A   KENTUCKY   CARDINAL 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    -    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &   CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


A  Kentucky   Cardinal 


By 

JAMES    LANE   ALLEN 

Author  of  "  The  Reign  of  Law,"  "  The  Choir  Invisible" 
"The  Blue  Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,"  etc. 


Neew  Edition  Revised 
'with  a  New  Preface 


'with  Illustrations  by 
Hugh  Thomson 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1913 

All  rights  reserved 


1 


K 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  1899, 
BY  HARPER  &   BROTHERS. 

COPYRIGHT,  1900, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

New  edition,  May,  1913. 


NorinootJ 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PS 


lc 


ID  etjf  cation 

This  to  her  from  one  who  in  childhood  used  to  stand 
at  the  windows  of  her  room  and  watch  for  the  Cardinal 
among  the  snow-buried  cedars. 


Apprehensions  of  Falling  Weather   . 

Cuckoo  and  Mocking-bird 

We  twittered  kindly  at  each  other     . 

Many  an  Exquisite  Strain 

Touches  her  Guitar  with  Maidenly  Solicitude 

A  Distant  Sharpshooter    . 

A  False  Impression  of  Mrs.  Cobb     . 

Got  down  my  Map  of  Kentucky 

Certain  Ladies  who  bow  sweetly  to  me     . 

The  New  Neighbours  have  come 

"  Old  man,  are  you  the  gardener  ? ri  . 

I  dressed  up 

Over  to  my  Woodland  Pasture 


PAGE 
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37 

42 

44 
46 


PAGE 

Little  Town  Boys  into  my  Strawberry  Bed        .         .       50 

Toploftical  Strutting 67 

I  see  People  on  account  of  my  Grapes  and  Pears       .       74 

Welcomed  her  gayly 80 

Knocked  reproachfully 85 

Putting  a  Prop  under  a  Too-heavily  Laden  Limb  .  87 
Thrust  Mrs.  Cobb  out  of  the  House  ...  89 

When  she  fed  her  Hens 93 

That  Whipping 103 

Looking  down  at  the  Gate  that  I  made  Yesterday  .  113 
Georgiana  and  her  Mother  coming  out  .  .  .121 
"  But  wouldn't  I  like  to  have  him  !"  .  .  .129 
"What  have  you  done  ?"  she  cried  .  .  .  .132 

A  Little  Saul  of  Tarsus 138 

"And  —  is  —  that  —  all  ?" 143 

Set  our  Candles  in  our  Windows      .         .         .         -144 


VI 


gintroDuctfon 

HE  first  thing  in  life  that  I  can 
remember  is  the  fact  of  being 
caught  up  into  somebody's  arms 
and  of  owning  a  blue  tumbler. 
Possibly  when  that  gigantic  person  —  who 
ever  it  was  —  seized  me  by  my  two  handles, 
I  seized  my  tumbler  by  its  one  handle ;  and 
thus  the  glass  and  the  caress  stayed  bound 
together  in  my  memory  as  parts  of  the  same 
commotion.     But  I  can  never  evoke  these 
ill-assorted  beginnings  of  all  conscious  recol 
lection  without  being  also  obliged  to  think 
of  a  pump  on  a  slippery  hill  with  a  brick 
pavement  around    it :    and  a    pump    and    a 
tumbler  and    being    suddenly   snatched    off 
the   earth   suggest   some  true   story   of  the 
times.      But,    then    again,    it    is    impossible 


XI 


to  recall  the  image  of  this  pump  without 
instantly  dragging  into  view  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  smiling  school-teacher,  who 
held  me  in  his  arms  and  who  had  the  power 
to  give  away  sweet  morsels  —  on  that  occa 
sion  ;  and  why  be  should  appear  so  early  in 
the  procession  of  small  knowledge  —  indeed, 
at  the  azoic  head  of  it  —  may  be  a  secret  not 
worth  discovering,  but  it  is  at  least  quite 
certain  that  no  one  will  ever  discover  it. 

Most  likely,  these  several  things,  which 
are  now  beheld  as  compressed  into  a  single 
scene  and  instant,  existed  far  apart  through 
time  and  place.  A  year  arrived  when  caresses 
began  to  be  conscious  experience  ;  in  another 
I  entered  upon  the  ownership  of  a  cerulean 
mug ;  during  a  third  my  explorations  of  the 
physical  world  extended  to  the  pump  in  the 
yard  —  for  one  stood  there;  on  some  day 
of  a  fourth  I  may  have  been  led  across  the 
woods  to  the  school-house  on  the  mud  road 
—  perhaps  some  Friday  afternoon,  when  it 
was  customary  to  have  spelling  matches,  or 
dialogues  and  speeches,  and  when  parents 


xn 


came  and  refreshments  —  the  arrival  of  the 
refreshments  being  much  more  important 
than  that  of  the  parents.  Be  the  truth  as  it 
may,  the  matters  set  down  above  are  all  that 
I  can  remember  on  my  own  account  about 
my  birthplace  and  my  earliest  years.  They 
are  filaments  of  the  obscurest  algae,  gathered 
around  the  coasts  of  that  dim,  deep  sea  which 
is  a  child's  mind  and  now  resembling  nothing 
so  much  as  a  barely  traceable  bunch  of  out 
lines  pressed  on  one  small  card. 

After  this  everything  vanishes  —  tumbler 
and  teacher,  pump  and  pudding.  There  is 
an  upheaval,  or  a  downfall ;  and  when  Mem 
ory  begins  again  the  weaving  of  that  long 
seamless  living  tapestry  wherefrom  she  has 
never  rested  and  whereon  she  is  busy  yet,  I 
was  about  two  miles  away.  My  father  had 
moved  with  his  family  to  a  farm  that  had 
been  left  to  him  by  his  father  and  entailed 
for  the  benefit  of  us,  his  children  ;  and  there 
I  continued  to  live  until  I  was  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  without  ever  having  been  out 
side  the  state  of  Kentucky  or  having  seen 
xiii 


more  than  once  or  twice  any  but  the  nearest 
village. 

The  farm  to  which  the  scene  now  shifts 
was  small.      I  was  the  last  of  seven  children; 
and    during    the    forerunning    years   of  his 
married  life  my  father,  who  was  of  a  most 
generous,  unselfish,  and  trustful  nature,  had 
met  with  reverses  ;  both  his  and  my  mother's 
independent  fortunes  were  gone.     This  piece 
of  property   represented  a  fragment  of  his 
father's    estate,  just    as    his    father's    estate 
represented  but  a  fragment  of  the  wilderness 
lands  of  a  pioneer   settler.     On  it  stood  a 
brick  house  of  the  Virginia  pattern  —  a  very 
good  one  for  the  time  at  which  it  had  been 
built.      In  its  original  shape  it  consisted  of 
that  part  which  was  two  stories  high ;    but 
later  (I  do    not   know  when   or   by  whom) 
there  had  been  added  at  the  southern  end  an 
ell  containing,  besides  a  pantry  and  a  kitchen, 
one  chamber,  the  largest  room  in  the  house. 
This    was    occupied    by    my    father    and 
mother.     Thus,  in  accordance  with  the  com 
mon  custom  of  the  country  in  those  days,  it 
xiv 


became  the  general  living-room  of  the  family. 
Its  two  good-sized  windows  opened  upon 
the  front  yard.  One  of  these  was  kept 
closed,  because  the  bed  sat  against  it ;  the 
other  was  regularly  closed  at  nightfall,  and 
regularly  opened  the  first  thing  in  the  morn 
ing. 

In  this  room,  then,  and  at  this  window 
begins  the  history  of  my  outdoor  life.  There 
my  impressions  of  the  physical  world  took 
earliest  shape  and  meaning ;  whatsoever  un 
important  habits  of  observation  I  may  possess 
were  there  formed,  directed,  and  rewarded ; 
and  if  I  have  ever  written  anything  concern 
ing  Nature  which  shows  the  slightest  knowl 
edge  or  feeling  —  if  in  far  later  years  I  have 
ever  lingered  over  a  page,  vainly  trying  to 
put  upon  it  the  reality  of  external  things  as 
they  seem  to  us,  and  the  reality  of  the  emo 
tions  they  arouse  in  us  —  the  origin  of  it  all 
goes  back  to  that  time  and  place. 

Of  the  other  portions  of  the  house,  any 
account  would  enter  but  unprofitably  into 
the  purpose  of  these  recollections.  True,  I 
xv 


early  acquired  excellent  information  regard 
ing  the  pantry  next  door.  It  was  full  of 
things  that  once  had  been  in  Nature,  but 
were  soon  to  be  in  Man.  And  in  Me. 
Substances  piled  up,  simply  waiting  to  be 
taken  in  :  why  keep  them  waiting  ?  It  was 
one  of  the  places  in  which  a  boy  sometimes 
lengthens  his  life  and  sometimes  shortens  it, 
but  where  meantime  he  invariably  broadens 
his  information  and  his  body.  The  truth,  in 
any  case,  would  be  of  no  value  except  as  a 
warning,  and  there  is  never  anybody  to  take 
the  warning.  Of  the  kitchen  also,  adjoining 
the  pantry  —  those  twin  hostelries  of  little 
pattering  feet  —  I  have  recollections  that  go 
fairly  back  to  Chaos  ;  but  neither  have  these 
anything  to  do  with  that  one  especial  end  in 
view,  which  further  on  perhaps  may  kindly 
justify  these  frank  and  unexpected  personali 
ties.  As  for  the  other  rooms  —  the  dining- 
room,  the  parlour,  the  bedrooms  upstairs,  and 
the  enormous  garret  above  these  —  each  in 
time  grew  discoverable  and  definite  to  my 
spreading  intelligence  until  at  last  I  could 
xvi 


grasp  the  entire  house  as  a  mental  whole, 
consisting  of  many  orderly  and  separately 
interesting  parts.  But  their  several  diverse 
histories  began  later ;  and  none  opened  for 
me  an  eye  through  which  to  look  out  upon 
the  physical  world. 

So  that  there  was  but  one :  the  window  in 
my  father's  and  mother's  room,  that  single 
observatory  for  a  delicate  child  kept  much 
indoors  and  having  no  playmates.  At  this 
instant,  as  I  test  the  matter  in  consciousness, 
I  possess  not  a  single  recollection  of  this 
window  in  summer  or  of  anything  I  ever 
saw  from  it  during  that  season  :  which  means 
no  doubt  that  then  I  was  never  there.  But 
from  the  first  chill  days  of  autumn  when  the 
white  window-sash  was  lowered,  and  doors 
were  shut,  and  a  fire  was  kindled  on  the 
hearth  —  from  that  time  until  late  spring, 
when  the  sash  was  thrown  up  again  and 
doors  were  set  open  and  the  fireplace  was 
whitewashed  for  the  summer,  with  a  bag  of 
straw  rammed  up  the  chimney  to  keep  back 
soot  and  swallows  —  the  memories  of  what  I 
xvii 


looked  out  upon  through  that  window  are  so 
thick  that  in  all  the  years  since  I  have  never 
exhausted  them,  and  I  have  but  to  develop 
some  unused  film  of  memory  to  find  fresh 
ones  at  any  moment. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  the  shutters  were  thrown  open. 
How  often,  as  soon  as  this  was  done,  would 
my  mother  call  to  me  and  direct  my  atten 
tion  to  something  of  interest.  Perhaps  to 
the  window-panes  themselves,  silvered  and 
sparkling  with  frost.  What  a  wonder  and  a 
mystery  to  a  child's  eyes !  Those  landscapes 
which  had  settled  in  a  night  across  his  crystal 
path  of  vision  and  now  shut  out  all  others  ! 
Until  they  were  melted  away  by  his  hot 
breath,  or  scratched  through  with  a  small 
curious  finger-nail.  Sometimes  it  was  as 
though  the  distant  woods  with  all  its  boughs 
and  avenues  had  thrown  its  image  towards 
the  house  —  not  across  the  sunlight,  but 
under  cover  of  the  darkness  —  and  this 
image  had  been  intercepted  at  the  window 
and  fastened  there  in  ice. 
xviii 


About  thirty  yards  away  stood  a  row  of 
large  cedar-trees,  the  well-nigh  universal  ever 
green  in  Kentucky  front  yards  at  that  period, 
for  nurseries  were  scarce,  and  a  fir,  a  larch,  a 
juniper,  or  the  like  was  difficult  or  impos 
sible  to  get.  How  often  she  called  to  me, 
on  going  to  the  window  herself,  to  look  out 
at  these  cedars  !  At  the  first  snow,  piled 
lightly  on  the  boughs  ;  at  a  male  cardinal, 
sitting  on  a  pinnacle  of  white  and  green ;  at 
some  great  sleet,  bending  them  to  the  earth, 
rigid  and  shapeless.  It  was  she  who  intro 
duced  me  to  the  subject  of  birds. 

Thus,  shut  up  in  a  rather  lonely  farm 
house  with  my  back  to  the  fire,  I  learned  to 
send  my  eyes  abroad  and  to  live  out  of  doors 
with  sun  and  cloud,  storm  and  calm,  through 
out  three  quarters  of  the  year. 

These  window  observations  went  on  dur 
ing  many  returning  seasons.  Long  before 
they  had  ceased,  they  were  overlapped  by 
other  lines  of  experience  begun  outside  the 
house.  First  in  the  yard  itself;  and  has  the 
mature  mind  ever  been  able  to  describe  how 
xix 


vast  a  world  a  large  country  yard  is  to  a 
child  ?  A  summer  day  there  was  longer 
than  is  the  man's  brief  life ;  one  corner  of 
it  more  distant  from  another  than  continent 
from  continent  to  his  measuring  eyes.  In 
the  yard  I  could  draw  near  to  many  things 
which  I  had  been  obliged  to  observe  from  a 
distance.  I  could  follow  them  up,  lay  hold 
on  them,  play  the  mischief.  For  one  thing  : 
I  could  run,  at  winter  twilights,  out  to  the 
cedar-trees  and  seizing  a  low  bough,  shake  it 
and  scatter  the  birds  settled  down  for  the 
night ;  thus  driving  them  from  tree  to  tree, 
backward  and  forward,  their  cries  growing 
always  more  distressing  in  the  darkness  :  a 
wonderfully  interesting  piece  of  business  to 
me  for  some  unknown  devilish  reason.  And 
then  there  was  the  first  trap,  and  the  first  wild, 
fluttering  captive  after  breakfast  some  morn 
ing.  And  when  the  blue  grass  with  orchard 
grass  mixed  in  it  was  at  its  highest,  not  yet 
having  been  mowed,  and  the  cold  showers  of 
early  June  left  the  tops  dripping  and  bowed 
down,  out  of  the  depths  here  and  there 
xx 


issued  all  day  the  cries  of  the  young,  fallen 
from  the  nest  or  unable  to  rise  on  callow 
wing  out  of  that  chill  forest  of  stems.  A 
fine  chance  for  adventures  and  a  place  where 
a  boy  can  learn  to  hate  cats  —  and  never 
afterwards  get  over  his  aversion. 

Passing  on,  I  must  yet  pause  to  say  that 
on  a  Kentucky  farm  in  those  days  a  child 
was  surrounded  by  a  prodigal  bird  life  of 
which  but  traces  remain.  My  earliest  recol 
lections  of  daybreak  are  now  condensed  into 
one  surviving  impression  :  that  of  hearing 
all  round  my  father's  house,  beating  close  to 
the  walls  and  surging  faintly  and  more  faintly 
away  in  every  direction,  such  a  sea  of  song 
as  I  think  can  no  longer  visit  human  ears. 
Of  mornings  I  was  often  called  out  of  the 
house  to  look  at  the  sky,  across  which  wild 
geese  were  flying  (I  can  still  hear  the  cry 
of  the  leaders  up  there  —  that  highest  mel 
ody  of  earth).  Or  far  outnumbering  these, 
wild  ducks ;  or  outnumbering  the  wild  ducks 
a  myriad  to  one,  the  wild  pigeons  —  now 
entirely  gone.  Sometimes  the  flocks  of 
xxi 


these  dappled  for  hours  the  low  gray  sky 
over  one  entire  quarter  of  the  heavens : 
passing,  passing,  passing.  At  other  times  — 
a  strangely  beautiful  sight — flying  high  on  a 
clear  frosty  morning  and  spread  far  out  in 
a  thin  straight  line,  they  passed  under  the 
zenith  like  a  moving  arch.  A  procession  of 
arches  !  one  after  another,  all  borne  in  the 
same  direction  —  a  single  instinct  in  ten 
thousand  breasts.  They  were  visiting  still 
the  vast  oak  forests  of  Kentucky.  The 
whole  land  lay  across  the  ancient  paths  of 
migration.  Strange  species  now  and  then 
crossed  also.  I  can  remember  that  my  father, 
who  was  a  capital  shot,  standing  one  day  in 
his  stable  lot,  winged  an  immense  sea  fowl 
that  fluttered  far  down  on  a  neighbour's  estate. 
He  went  for  it  and  brought  it  home;  but  not 
he  nor  any  one  else  knew  the  name  of  it. 

Outside  the  yard,  on  every  side  there  lay 
for  me  as  a  child  the  wonderful  universe 
of  the  farm.  I  early  began  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  this  by  sitting  on  the  pom 
mel  before  my  father  as  he  rode  over  it  on 
xxii 


his  gaited  saddle  horse.  Later  I  began  to 
ride  behind  him,  thank  heavens !  where 
there  was  no  upward  horn-like  projection  to 
be  perched  on,  but  where  I  could  straddle 
a  real  soft,  fat,  living  back.  There  was  such 
a  difference  between  riding  on  a  pommel  and 
riding  off  of  it.  My  father  knew  the  names 
of  all  trees  of  the  land  and  their  varieties ; 
and  of  weed  and  grass  and  shrub.  He  had 
his  wonderful  practical  knowledge  direct  from 
his  father,  as  his  father  had  drawn  his  from 
the  foregoing  pioneer  settler  ;  and  thus  in 
the  person  of  my  father  I  touched  in  some 
small  way  that  marvellous  utilitarian  wood 
craft  possessed  by  the  western  frontiersman. 
Through  my  father  also  came  the  earliest 
knowledge  of  the  fields.  I  possess  no  men 
tal  picture  of  him  older  than  that  of  the  sow 
ing  of  hempseed.  He  sat  on  his  saddle  horse, 
whose  ears  he  had  tied  over  with  his  hand 
kerchief  to  keep  the  seed  from  falling  into 
them.  Backward  and  forward,  backward 
and  forward,  across  the  soft  brown  earth  he 
rode,  sowing  the  hemp.  And  through  him 
xxiii 


there  was  brought  into  my  life  perhaps  the 
most  wholesome  idea  and  lesson  that  has  ever 
entered  it,  —  that  of  getting  down  to  hard 
work ;  and  .  that  whatsoever  work  my  hand 
undertook,  to  rest  not  until  it  was  done  and 
done  with  thoroughness.  Both  he  and  my 
mother  were  of  inexorable  thoroughness  and 
particularity  in  all  their  lives.  I  have  never 
followed  their  example  but  with  outward 
profit  and  inward  peace,  nor  neglected  it 
without  loss  of  both  of  these. 

What  I  have  now  come  to  and  am  trying  to 
say  is  that  everything  I  was  set  to  do,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  all  my  small  labours  on 
the  farm,  brought  indispensable  knowledge; 
kept  me  close  to  the  earth ;  caused  me  to 
know  more  of  the  infinite  life  of  out-of-doors. 

I  dropped  corn,  covered  it,  thinned  it  (an 
abominable  business,  I  thought,  working  a 
boy's  body  as  though  he  were  a  pair  of  sugar 
tongs).  Sometimes  I  shucked  it  in  autumn, 
threw  the  fodder  over  to  the  stock  in  winter, 
took  the  corn  to  the  mill  in  the  spring  — 
and  took  my  share  of  the  bread  at  all  seasons, 
xxiv 


I  followed  the  cradles,  and  shocked  oats  and 
wheat,  and  helped  haul  the  oats  to  the  barn, 
and  the  wheat  to  the  stack.  And  who  can 
do  these  things  without  learning  a  little  about 
the  natural  history  of  fields  ?  I  cut  weeds  in 
the  woodland  pasture  (what  Kentucky  boy 
of  those  times  but  looked  bitterly  forward 
from  year  to  year  to  the  weed-cutting  season, 
and  connected  weeds  with  the  original  curse 
of  the  earth  —  regularly  adding  an  original 
one  unknown  to  Moses).  I  cut  weeds  along 
fences  and  in  stable  lots  :  on  the  whole  I 
think  I  knew  weeds  pretty  well.  For  several 
springs  I  helped  to  cut  the  willows  for  tying 
the  vines  in  my  father's  large  vineyard.  I 
charred  the  ends  of  the  stakes  over  which 
these  vines  were  to  grow,  hoed  the  vines, 
thinned  out  superfluous  leaves,  gathered  the 
grapes  for  the  press,  racked  the  wine  in  the 
cellar  —  and  sometimes  the  wine  racked  me. 
I  prepared  the  ground  for  the  sowing  of  veg 
etable  seeds  and  cultivated  the  plants  after 
they  came  up :  surely  I  was  made  to  master 
the  business  of  gardening.  Sometimes  when 
xxv 


a  tree  was  felled  in  the  woods,  I  collected 
the  brush  into  a  pile  and  afterwards  burnt 
the  brush  and  my  breeches.  I  cut  wood 
for  the  house  at  the  wood-pile.  At  the 
stable  I  fed  the  stock:  what  is  there  did 
I  not  learn  about  a  barn  and  its  kind 
faithful  souls  ? 

On  the  whole,  though  I  was  never  a  hard- 
worked,  hard-pressed  boy,  there  dwelt  in  the 
minds  of  parents  of  those  days  the  stalwart, 
sturdy  idea  that  when  business  stops  the 
devil  begins ;  and  my  parents  evidently  did 
not  wish  him  to  begin.  It  appeared  to  me 
that  when  they  did  not  keep  me  busy,  they 
kept  me  moving :  they  sent  me  on  errands 
to  the  neighbours  —  presumably  an  amuse 
ment  for  the  young.  In  this  way,  as  I  now 
know,  I  began  to  extend  my  knowledge  of 
woods  and  fields  and  pathways  beyond  the 
farm.  Furthermore,  one  of  my  regular  occu 
pations  (another  amusement)  was  to  hunt 
the  turkeys.  But  long  before  I  started  out 
with  the  idea  of  finding  the  turkeys,  the 
turkeys  had  started  out  with  the  idea  of  not 
xxvi 


being  found  by  anybody.  Apparently  they 
refused  grasshoppers  until  they  had  reached 
a  place  where  they  had  no  right  to  eat  them. 
What  wanderings  and  searchings  they  origi 
nated  !  And  no  sooner  did  they  perceive 
that  they  were  discovered  than  they  began 
to  run  cheerfully  home  —  zealously  pushing 
each  other  out  of  the  way  —  as  though  they 
had  never  intended  to  leave  it  and  were  only 
too  glad  to  return.  But  they  did  this  every 
day,  and  I  was  not  inclined  to  believe  them. 
It  is  more  to  the  purpose  to  record  how 
during  these  hours  of  roaming  over  the 
summer  and  autumn  land,  I  received  uncon 
scious  lessons  regarding  it  through  every 
busy  sense. 

And  then  there  were  the  child's  pleasures 
of  wood  and  stream  and  field,  during  which 
more  knowledge  was  gotten  through  sheer 
joy  alone  —  the  best  way :  for  as  you  can 
not  buy  joy,  neither  can  you  buy  the  truth 
that  always  attends  it.  Wring  out  of 
the  heart  of  a  man  the  last  essence  of  his 
knowledge  of  a  country,  and  it  will  be  the 
xxvii 


scenes  of  boyhood  pleasures.  Call  on  him 
for  his  best  remembrance  of  an  orchard  ;  and 
it  will  be  something  like  this  :  an  afternoon 
in  late  autumn  when  he  had  climbed  the 
fence  of  one,  during  a  long  hunt,  his  tongue 
parched  and  his  stomach  empty.  But  not 
an  apple  was  to  be  found :  it  was  too  late : 
they  had  all  been  knocked  or  gathered.  Ah ! 
there  was  a  splendid  one,  caught  in  the  fork 
of  a  limb ;  or  kicking  about  among  the 
leaves,  he  found  two,  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  beside  a  sprout  of  blackberry  in  deep 
grass  near  the  edge  of  the  limbs ;  or,  in  a 
little  hollow  of  the  ground,  he  spied  a  third 
with  a  bee  hole  on  one  side  of  it ;  a  wet  leaf 
stuck  to  the  other  and  a  little  white  mould 
under  it. 

Through  work  and  errand  and  pleasure, 
then,  I  was  ever  learning.  As  I  grew  older 
other  things  helped  to  furrow  habits  more 
deeply.  The  school  to  which  I  was  sent  lay 
across  the  country ;  and  morning  and  after 
noon  that  country  must  be  traversed.  The 
neighbourhood  church  lay  several  miles  off  in 
xxviii 


another.  When  I  entered  college,  through 
part  of  each  year  I  walked  back  and  forth — • 
several  miles,  across  the  country  still.  So 
that  by  the  end  of  that  time  and  as  the  end 
of  it  all,  I  had  learned  some  little  about 
Nature  in  a  neighbourhood. 

One  fact  is  not  to  be  overlooked :  that  I 
should  probably  have  learned  less,  had  the 
neighbourhood  contained  more  children.  Of 
course  this  neighbourhood  contained  its  chil 
dren,  otherwise  it  would  not  have  been  one. 
But  there  were  some  families  with  whom  we 
did  not  exchange  visits.  I  had  whole  groups 
and  flocks  of  cousins,  away  off  below  the 
horizon,  in  two  or  three  directions  ;  but  I  saw 
them  too  seldom  —  to  my  sorrow.  Then 
there  were  much  older  boys  far  ahead  of 
me  and  babies  everywhere  behind  me  —  no 
trouble  about  babies.  But  at  a  certain  period 
there  seemed  to  have  been  a  lull,  and  during 
that  lull  I  was  born.  So  that  strictly  I  had 
no  adjacent  contemporaries.  Undoubtedly 
this  had  its  effect  —  this  absence  of  compan 
ionship  :  it  often  led  me  to  follow  the  negroes 
xxix 


into  the  fields,  where  as  one  result  I  watched 
the  hemp  through  all  its  changes.  Another 
result,  more  important  by  far  for  me,  was  the 
dependence  it  created  upon  other  things  for 
play,  study,  interest,  activity,  curiosity,  affec 
tion.  So  that  the  other  inhabitants  of  my 
world  —  domestic  fowls,  dumb  brutes,  birds, 
creatures  of  the  woods  —  took  measurably 
from  the  first  the  place  of  the  human  species. 
There  has  never  been  reason  to  regret  these 
universal  childhood  friendships :  none  of 
them  has  ever  been  broken  :  they  mean  more 
the  longer  they  last. 

In  so  far  as  literature  is  concerned  these 
same  experiences  taught  me,  and  have  always 
compelled  me,  to  see  human  life  as  set  in 
Nature  :  finding  its  explanation  in  soil  and 
sky  and  season :  merely  one  of  the  wild 
growths  that  spring  up  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth  amid  ten  thousand  others.  I  hold  this 
to  be  the  only  true  way  in  which  to  write  of 
Man  in  fiction,  as  it  is  in  science.  I  further 
hold  it  to  be  true  that  if  a  writer  is  ever  to 
have  that  knowledge  of  a  country  which 
xxx 


reappears  in  his  work  as  local  colour,  he  must 
have  gotten  it  in  his  childhood ;  that  no  one 
ever  knows  Nature  anywhere  unless  he  has 
known  Nature  somewhere  in  his  youth ;  and 
that  he  who  has  thus  known  her  in  one  place 
can,  at  any  time,  easily  know  her  in  any  other. 
There  may  be  new  terms,  phrases,  groupings, 
and  arrangements  ;  but  it  is  the  same  Mother- 
Speech  learned  at  the  knee. 

Behind  all  that  I  have  written  lie  the  land 
scapes  of  a  single  neighbourhood.  They  are 
in  The  Blue  Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,,  in 
Flute  and  Violin ;  still  more  in  A  Summer  in 
Arcady,  in  A  Kentucky  Cardinal  and  After 
math  ;  and  in  'The  Reign  of  Law.  The 
question  is  often  asked,  how  can  a  man  in  a 
city  write  of  a  country  far  away  that  he  has 
not  seen  for  years.  But  that  country  is  never 
far  away  and  the  man  looks  over  into  it  un 
ceasingly.  He  has  but  to  lift  his  eyes  to  see  it 
—  as  clearly  as  he  sees  the  people  in  the  street. 

Such  pictures  of  outdoor  life  are  for  any 
one  a  great  possession,  a  divine  indestructible 
wealth ;  and  it  is  for  the  simple  sake  of  try- 


xxxi 


ing  to  spread  the  love  of  Nature  —  of 
scattering  broadcast  such  wealth  —  that  he 
has  written  down  these  words  with  a  certain 
childish  figure  so  much  in  evidence :  but  this 
boy  was  the  only  one  that  he  had  the  right 
to  use  as  an  illustration. 

J.  L.  A. 

NEW  YORK  CITY, 
IO  October,  1900. 


XXX11 


A    KENTUCKY   CARDINAL 


••' 


I 

LL  this  New-year's 
Day  of  1850  the  sun 
shone  cloudless  but 
wrought  no  thaw. 
Even  the  landscapes 
of  frost  on  the  win 
dow-panes  did  not 

melt  a  flower,  and  the  little  trees  still  keep  their 
silvery  boughs  arched  high  above  the  jewelled 
avenues.  During  the  afternoon  a  lean  hare 
limped  twice  across  the  lawn,  and  there  was  not 
a  creature  stirring  to  chase  it.  Now  the  night 

B  I 


is  bitter  cold,  with  no  sounds  outside  but  the 
cracking  of  the  porches  as  they  freeze  tighter. 


APPREHENSIONS   OF   FALLING   WEATHER. 

Even  the  north  wind  seems  grown  too  numb  to 
move.     I  had  determined  to  convert  its  coarse, 


big  noise  into  something  sweet  —  as  may  often 
be  done  by  a  little  art  with  the  things  of  this 
life  —  and  so  stretched  a  horse-hair  above  the 
opening  between  the  window  sashes;  but  the 
soul  of  my  harp  has  departed.  I  hear  but 
the  comfortable  roar  and  snap  of  hickory  logs, 
at  long  intervals  a  deeper  breath  from  the  dog 
stretched  on  his  side  at  my  feet,  and  the  crickets 
under  the  hearth-stones.  They  have  to  thank 
me  for  that  nook.  One  chill  afternoon  I  came 
upon  a  whole  company  of  them  on  the  western 
slope  of  a  woodland  mound,  so  lethargic  that  I 
thumped  them  repeatedly  before  they  could  so 
much  as  get  their  senses.  There  was  a  branch 
near  by,  and  the  smell  of  mint  in  the  air,  so 
that  had  they  been  young  Kentuckians  one 
might  have  had  a  clew  to  the  situation.  With 
an  ear  for  winter  minstrelsy,  I  brought  two 
home  in  a  handkerchief,  and  assigned  them 
an  elegant  suite  of  apartments  under  a  loose 
brick. 

But  the  finest  music  in  the  room  is  that  which 
streams  out  to  the  ear  of  the  spirit  in  many  an 
exquisite  strain  from  the  hanging  shelf  of  books 
on  the  opposite  wall.  Every  volume  there  is 
an  instrument  which  some  melodist  of  the  mind 
created  and  set  vibrating  with  music,  as  a  flower 
3 


CUCKOO   AND    MOCKING-BIRD. 


shakes  out  its  perfume  or  a  star  shakes  out  its 
light.  Only  listen,  and  they  soothe  all  care,  as 
though  the  silken  soft  leaves  of  poppies  had 
been  made  vocal  and  poured  into  the  ear. 

Towards    dark,  having  seen  to   the  comfort 
of  a  household  of  kind,  faithful  fellow-beings, 
whom  man  in  his  vanity  calls  the  lower  animals, 
I   went  last  to  walk  under  the  cedars  in  the 
front  yard,  listening  to  that  music  which  is  at 
once  so  cheery  and  so  sad — the  low  chirping  of 
birds  at  dark  winter  twilights  as  they  gather  in 
from  the  frozen  fields,  from  snow-buried  shrub 
bery  and  hedge-rows,  and  settle  down  for  the  » 
night  in  the  depths  of  the  evergreens,  the  only  I 
refuge  from  their  enemies  and  shelter  from  the  | 
blast.      But   this   evening   they   made   no   ado  / 
about  their  home-coming.    To-day  perhaps  none/ 
had  ventured  forth.     I  am  most  uneasy  when 
the  red-bird  is  forced  by  hunger  to  leave  the 
covert  of  his  cedars,   since  he,   on   the  naked 
or  white  landscapes  of  winter,  offers  the  most 
far-shining   and  beautiful  mark  for  Death.     I 
stepped  across  to  the  tree  in  which  a  pair  of 
these  birds  roost,  and  shook  it,  to  make  sure 
they  were  at  home,  and  felt  relieved  when  they 
fluttered  into  the  next  with  the  quick  startled 
notes  they  utter  when  aroused. 
5 


WE  TWITTERED    KINDLY  AT  EACH   OTHER. 


The  longer  I  live  here,  the  better  satisfied  I 
am   in   having   pitched   my   earthly   camp-fire, 
gypsylike,  on  the  edge  of  a  town,  keeping  it  on 
one  side,  and  the  green  fields,  lanes,  and  woods 
on  the  other.     Each,  in  turn,  is  to  me  as  a  mag 
net  to  the  needle.     At  times  the  needle  of  my 
nature  points   towards   the   country.     On   that 
side  everything  is  poetry.     I  wander  over  field 
and  forest,  and  through  me  runs  a  glad  current 
of  feeling  that  is  like  a  clear  brook  across  the 
meadows  of  May      At  others  the  needle  veers 
round,    and    I    go    to    town  —  to    the    massed 
haunts   of    the   highest   animal    and    cannibal. 
That  way  nearly  everything  is   prose.     I    can 
feel  the  prose  rising  in  me  as    I    step    along, 
like  hair  on  the  back  of  a  dog,  long  before  any 
other  dogs  are  in  sight.     And,  indeed,  the  case 
is  much  that  of  a  country  dog  come  to  town,  so 
that  growls  are  in  order  at  every  corner.     The 
only  being  in  the  universe  at  which  I  have  ever 
snarled,  or  with  which  I  have  rolled  over  in  the 
mud  and  fought  like  a  common  cur,  is  Man. 

Among  my  neighbours  who  furnish  me  much 
of  the  plain  prose  of  life,  the  nearest  hitherto 
has  been  a  bachelor  named  Jacob  Mariner.  I 
called  him  my  raincrow,  because  the  sound  of 
his  voice  awoke  apprehensions  of  falling  weather. 
7 


MANY  AN   EXQUISITE  STRAIN. 


A  visit  from  him  was  an  endless  drizzle.     For 
Jacob  came  over  to  expound  his  minute  symp 
toms  ;  and  had  everything  that  he  gave  out  on 
the   subject   of   human   ailments   been   written 
down,  it  must  have  made  a  volume  as  large,  as 
solemn,  and  as  inconvenient  as  a  family  Bible. 
My  other  nearest  neighbour  lives  across  the  road 
—  a  widow,  Mrs.  Walters.     I  call  Mrs.  Walters 
my  mocking-bird,  because   she   reproduces   by 
what  is  truly  a  divine  arrangement  of  the  throat 
the   voices   of   the   town.     When    she    flutters 
across  to  the  yellow  settee  under  the  grape-vine 
and  balances  herself  lightly  with  expectation,  I 
have  but  to  request  that  she  favour  me  with  a 
little  singing,  and  as  soon  the  air  is  vocal  with 
every  note  of  the  village  songsters.     After  this, 
Mrs.  Walters  usually  begins  to  flutter  in  a  moth 
erly  way  around  the  subject  of  my  symptoms. 

Naturally,  it  has  been  my  wish  to  bring  about 
between  this  raincrow  and  mocking-bird  the 
desire  to  pair  with  one  another.  For,  if  a  man 
always  wanted  to  tell  his  symptoms,  and  a  woman 
always  wished  to  hear  about  them,  surely  a  mar 
riage  compact  on  the  basis  of  such  a  passion 
ought  to  open  up  for  them  a  union  of  ever- 
flowing  and  indestructible  felicity.  They  should 
associate  as  perfectly  as  the  compensating 
9 


metals  of  a  pendulum,  of  which  the  one  con 
tracts  as  the  other  expands.  And  then  I  should 
be  a  little  happier  myself.  But  the  perversity 
of  life !  Jacob  would  never  confide  in  Mrs. 
Walters.  Mrs.  Walters  would  never  inquire  for 
Jacob. 

Now  poor  Jacob  is  dead,  of  no  complaint 
apparently,  and  with  so  few  symptoms  that 
even  the  doctors  did  not  know  what  was  the 
matter,  and  the  upshot  of  this  talk  is  that  his 
place  has  been  sold,  and  I  am  to  have  new 
neighbours.  What  a  disturbance  to  a  man 
living  on  the  edge  of  a  quiet  town  ! 

Tidings  of  the  calamity  came  to-day  from 
Mrs.  Walters,  who  flew  over  and  sang  —  sang 
even  on  a  January  afternoon  —  in  a  manner  to 
rival  her  most  vociferous  vernal  execution.  But 
the  poor  creature  was  so  truly  distressed  that  I 
followed  her  to  the  front  gate,  and  we  twittered 
kindly  at  each  other  over  the  fence,  and  ruffled 
our  plumage  with  common  disapproval.  It  is 
marvellous  how  a  member  of  her  sex  will  con 
ceive  dislike  of  people  that  she  has  never  seen ; 
but  birds  are  sensible  of  heat  or  cold  long  before 
either  arrives,  and  it  may  be  that  this  mocking 
bird  feels  something  wrong  at  the  quill  end  of 
her  feathers. 

10 


A  P/\Cn  OF  BLUE  DOGS  LET  L 


II 

RS.  WALTERS  this 
morning  with  more 
news  touching  our 
incoming  neighbours. 
Whenever  I  have 
faced  towards  this 
aggregation  of  unwel 
come  individuals,  I  have  beheld  it  moving 
towards  me  as  a  thick  gray  mist,  shutting  out 
nature  beyond.  Perhaps  they  are  approaching 
this  part  of  the  earth  like  a  comet  that  carries 
its  tail  before  it,  and  I  am  already  enveloped  in 
a  disturbing,  befogging  nebulosity. 

There  is  still  no  getting  the  truth,  but  it  ap 
pears  that  they  are  a  family  of  consequence  in 
their  way  — which,  of  course,  may  be  a  very 
poor  way.  Mrs.  Margaret  Cobb,  mother,  lately 
bereaved  of  her  husband,  Joseph  Cobb,  who  fell 
II 


among  the  Kentucky  boys  at  the  battle  of  Buena 
Vista.     A  son,  Joseph  Cobb,  now  cadet  at  West 
Point,  with  a  desire  to  die  like  his  father,  but 
destined  to  die  —  who  knows  ?  —  in  a  war  that 
may  break  out  in  this  country  about  the  negroes. 
Then  there  is  a  daughter,  Miss  Georgiana  Cobb, 
who  embroiders  blue-and-pink-worsted  dogs  on 
black  foot-cushions,  makes  far-off  crayon  trees 
that  look  like  sheep  in  the  act  of  variously  get 
ting  up  and  lying  down  on  a  hill-side,  and,  when 
the  dew  is  falling  and  the  moon  is  the  shape  of 
the  human  lips,  touches  her  guitar  with  maidenly 
solicitude.     Lastly,  a  younger  daughter,  who  is 
in  the  half-fledged  state  of  becoming  educated. 
While  not  reconciled,   I   am  resigned.     The 
young  man  when  at  home  may  wish  to  practise 
the  deadly  vocation  of  an  American  soldier  of 
the  period  over  the  garden  fence  at  my  birds,  in 
which  case  he  and  I  could  readily  fight  a  duel, 
and  help  maintain  an  honoured  custom  of  the 
commonwealth.     The  older  daughter  will  sooner 
or  later  turn  loose  on  my  heels  one  of  her  pack 
of  blue  dogs.     If  this  should  befall  me  in  the 
spring,  and  I  survive  the  dog,  I  could  retort  with 
a  dish  of  strawberries  and  a  copy  of  "  Lalla 
Rookh  " ;  if  in  the  fall,  with  a  basket  of  grapes 
and  Thomson's  "Seasons,"  after  which  there 
12 


TOUCHES   HER   GUITAR  WITH   MAIDENLY   SOLICITUDE. 
13 


would  be  no  further  exchange  of  hostilities. 
The  younger  daughter,  being  a  school-girl,  will 
occasionally  have  to  be  subdued  with  green 
apples  and  salt.  The  mother  could  easily  give 
trouble  ;  or  she  might  be  one  of  those  few  women 
to  know  whom  is  to  know  the  best  that  there  is 
in  all  this  faulty  world. 

The  middle  of  February.  The  depths  of  win 
ter  reached.  Thoughtful,  thoughtless  words  - 
the  depths  of  winter.  Everything  gone  inward 
and  downward  from  surface  and  summit,  Nature 
at  low  tide.  In  its  time  will  come  the  height  of 
summer,  when  the  tides  of  life  will  rise  to  the 
tree-tops,  or  be  dashed  as  silvery  insect  spray 
all  but  to  the  clouds.  So  bleak  a  season  touches 
my  concern  for  birds,  which  never  seem  quite 
at  home  in  this  world ;  and  the  winter  has  been 
most  lean  and  hungry  for  them.  Many  snows 
have  fallen  —  snows  that  are  as  raw  cotton 
spread  over  their  breakfast-table,  and  cutting 
off  connection  between  them  and  its  bounties. 
Next  summer  I  must  let  the  weeds  grow  up  in 
my  garden,  so  that  they  may  have  a  better 
chance  for  seeds  above  the  stingy  level  of  the 
universal  white.  Of  late  I  have  opened  a  pawn 
broker's  shop  for  my  hard-pressed  brethren  in 
feathers,  lending  at  a  fearful  rate  of  interest; 


for  every  borrowing  Lazarus  will  have  to  pay 
me  back  in  due  time  by  monthly  instalments  of 
singing.  I  shall  have  mine  own  again  with 
usury.  But  were  a  man  never  so  usurious, 
would  he  not  lend  a  winter  seed  for  a  summer 
song?  Would  he  refuse  to  invest  his  stale 
crumbs  in  an  orchestra  of  divine  instruments 
and  a  choir  of  heavenly  voices  ?  And  to-day, 
also,  I  ordered  from  a  nursery-man  more  trees 
of  holly,  juniper,  and  fir,  since  the  storm-beaten 
cedars  will  have  to  come  down.  For  in  Ken 
tucky,  when  the  forest  is  naked,  and  every  shrub 
and  hedge-row  bare,  what  would  become  of  our 
birds  in  the  universal  rigour  and  exposure  of  the 
world  if  there  were  no  evergreens  —  Nature's 
hostelries  for  the  homeless  ones  ?  Living  in  the 
depths  of  these,  they  can  keep  snow,  ice,  and 
wind  at  bay ;  Drying  eyes  cannot  watch  them, 
nor  enemies  so  well  draw  near ;  cones  or  seed  or 
berries  are  their  store ;  and  in  those  untrodden 
chambers  each  can  have  the  sacred  company  of 
his  mate.  But  wintering  here  has  terrible  risks 
which  few  run.  Scarcely  in  autumn  have  the 
leaves  begun  to  drop  from  their  high  perches 
silently  downward  when  the  birds  begin  to  drop 
away  from  the  bare  boughs  silently  southward. 
Lo  !  some  morning  the  leaves  are  on  the  ground, 
15 


and  the  birds  have  vanished.  The  species  that 
remain,  or  that  come  to  us  then,  wear  the  hues 
of  the  season,  and  melt  into  the  tone  of  Nature's 
background — blues,  grays,  browns,  with  touches 
of  white  on  tail  and  breast  and  wing  for  coming 
flecks  of  snow. 

Save  only  him  —  proud,  solitary  stranger  in 
our  unfriendly  land — the  fiery  grosbeak.  Nature 
in  Kentucky  has  no  wintry  harmonies  for  him. 
He  could  find  these  only  among  the  tufts  of  the 
October  sumac,  or  in  the  gum-tree  when  it 
stands  a  pillar  of  red  twilight  fire  in  the  dark 
November  woods,  or  in  the  far  depths  of  the 
crimson  sunset  skies,  where,  indeed,  he  seems 
to  have  been  nested,  and  whence  to  have  come 
as  a  messenger  of  beauty,  bearing  on  his  wings 
the  light  of  his  diviner  home. 

With  almost  everything  earthly  that  he  touches 
this  high  herald  of  the  trees  is  in  contrast. 
Among  his  kind  he  is  without  a  peer.  Even 
when  the  whole  company  of  summer  voyagers 
have  sailed  back  to  Kentucky,  singing  and  laugh 
ing  and  kissing  one  another  under  the  enormous 
green  umbrella  of  Nature's  leaves,  he  still  is 
beyond  them  all  in  loveliness.  But  when  they 
have  been  wafted  away  again  to  brighter  skies 
and  to  soft  islands  over  the  sea,  and  he  is  left 
16 


A   DISTANT   SHARPSHOOTER. 


alone  on  the  edge  of  that  Northern  world  which 
he  has  dared  invade  and  inhabit,  it  is  then,  amid 
black  clouds  and  drifting  snows,  that  the  gor 
geous  cardinal  stands  forth  in  the  ideal  picture 
of  his  destiny.  For  it  is  then  that  his  beauty  is 
most  conspicuous,  and  that  Death,  lover  of  the 
peerless,  strikes  at  him  from  afar.  So  that  he 
retires  to  the  twilight  solitude  of  his  wild  for 
tress.  Let  him  even  show  his  noble  head  and 
breast  at  a  slit  in  its  green  window-shades,  and 
a  ray  flashes  from  it  to  the  eye  of  a  cat;  let 
him,  as  spring  comes  on,  burst  out  in  despera 
tion  and  mount  to  the  tree-tops  which  he  loves, 
and  his  gleaming  red  coat  betrays  him  to  the 
poised  hawk  as  to  a  distant  sharpshooter ;  in 
the  barn  near  by  an  owl  is  waiting  to  do  his 
night  marketing  at  various  tender-meat  stalls ; 
and,  above  all,  the  eye  and  heart  of  man  are 
his  diurnal  and  nocturnal  foe.  What  wonder 
if  he  is  so  shy,  so  rare,  so  secluded,  this  flame- 
coloured  prisoner  in  dark-green  chambers,  who 
has  only  to  be  seen  or  heard  and  Death  adjusts 
an  arrow ! 

No  vast  Southern  swamps  or  forest  of  pine 

here  into  which  he  may  plunge.     If  he  shuns 

man    in    Kentucky,    he   must   haunt   the   long 

lonely  river  valleys  where  the  wild  cedars  grow. 

18 


If  he  comes  into  this  immediate  swarming  pas 
toral  region,  where  the  people,  with  ancestral 
love  of  privacy,  and  not  from  any  kindly 
thought  of  him,  plant  evergreens  around  their 
country  homes,  he  must  live  under  the  very 
guns  and  amid  the  pitfalls  of  the  enemy. 
Surely,  could  the  first  male  of  the  species 
have  foreseen  how,  through  the  generations  of 
his  race  to  come,  both  their  beauty  and  their 
song,  which  were  meant  to  announce  them  to 
Love,  would  also  announce  them  to  Death,  he 
must  have  blanched  snow-white  with  despair 
and  turned  as  mute  as  stone.  Is  it  this  flight 
from  the  inescapable  just  behind  that  makes 
the  singing  of  the  red-bird  thoughtful  and  plain 
tive,  and,  indeed,  nearly  all  the  wild  sounds  of 
Nature  so  like  the  outcry  of  the  doomed  ?  He 
will  sit  for  a  long  time  silent  and  motionless  in 
the  heart  of  a  cedar,  as  if  absorbed  in  the  tragic 
memories  of  his  race.  Then,  softly,  wearily,  he 
will  call  out  to  you  and  to  the  whole  world: 
Peace .  .  Peace .  .  Peace.  .  Peace  .  .  Peace  !  —  the 
most  melodious  sigh  that  ever  issued  from  the 
clefts  of  a  dungeon. 

For  colour  and  form,  brilliant  singing,  his  very 
enemies,  and  the  bold  nature  he  has  never  lost, 
I  have  long  been  most  interested  in  this  bird 
19 


Every  year  several  pairs  make  their  appearance 
about  my  place.  This  winter  especially  I  have 
been  feeding  a  pair ;  and  there  should  be  finer 
music  in  the  spring,  and  a  lustier  brood  in 
summer. 


20 


III 

ARCH  has  gone  like  its 
winds.  The  other  night 
as  I  lay  awake  with 
that  yearning  which 
often  beats  within, 
there  fell  from  the 
upper  air  the  notes 
of  the  wild  gander  as  he  wedged  his  way  on 
ward  by  faith,  not  by  sight,  towards  his  distant 
bourn.  I  rose  and,  throwing  open  the  shutters, 
strained  eyes  towards  the  unseen  and  unseeing 
21 


explorer,  startled,  as  a  half-asleep  soldier  might 
be  startled  by  the  faint  bugle-call  of  his  com 
mander,  blown  to  him  from  the  clouds.  What 
far-off  lands,  streaked  with  mortal  dawn,  does 
he  believe  in  ?  In  what  soft  sylvan  waters  will 
he  bury  his  tired  breast  ?  Always  when  I  hear 
his  voice,  often  when  not,  I  too  desire  to  be  up 
and  gone  out  of  these  earthly  marshes  where 
•  hunts  the  dark  Fowler,  —  gone  to  some  vast, 
pure,  open  sea,  where,  one  by  one,  my  scattered 
kind,  those  whom  I  love  and  those  who  love 
me,  will  arrive  in  safety,  there  to  be  together. 

March  is  a  month  when  the  needle  of  my 
nature  dips  towards  the  country.  I  am  away, 
greeting  everything  as  it  wakes  out  of  winter 
sleep,  stretches  arms  upward  and  legs  down 
ward,  and  drinks  goblet  after  goblet  of  young 
sunshine.  I  must  find  the  dark  green  snowdrop, 
and  sometimes  help  to  remove  from  her  head, 
as  she  lifts  it  slowly  from  her  couch,  the  frosted 
nightcap,  which  the  old  Nurse  would  still  insist 
that  she  should  wear.  The  pale  green  tips  of 
daffodils  are  a  thing  of  beauty.  There  is  the 
sun-struck  brook  of  the  field,  underneath  the 
thin  ice  of  which  drops  form  and  fall,  form  and 
fall,  like  big  round  silvery  eyes  that  grow  bigger 
and  brighter  with  astonishment  that  you  should 

22 


]augh  at  them  as  they  vanish.     But  most  I  love 
to  see  Nature  do  her  spring  house-cleaning  in 
Kentucky,  with  the  rain-clouds  for  her  water- 
buckets  and  the  winds  for  her  brooms.     What 
an  amount  of  drenching  and  sweeping  she  can 
do  in  a  day !     How  she  dashes  pailful  and  pail 
ful  into  every  corner,  till  the  whole  earth  is  as 
clean  as  a  new  floor  !     Another  day  she  attacks 
the  piles  of  dead  leaves,  where  they  have  lain 
since  last  October,  and  scatters  them  in  a  trice, 
so  that  every  cranny  may  be  sunned  and  aired. 
Or,  grasping  her  long  brooms  by  the  handles, 
she  will  go  into  the  woods  and  beat  the  icicles 
off  the  big  trees  as  a  housewife  would  brush 
down   cobwebs;    so   that    the    released    limbs 
straighten  up  like  a  man  who  has  gotten  out  of 
debt,  and  almost  say  to  you,  joyfully,   "  Now, 
then,  we  are  all  right  again  !  "     This  done,  she 
begins  to  hang  up  soft  new  curtains  at  the  forest 
windows,  and  to  spread  over  her  floor  a  new  car 
pet  of  an  emerald  loveliness  such  as  no  mortal 
looms  could  ever  have  woven.     And   then,  at 
last,  she  sends  out  invitations  through  the  South, 
and  even  to  some  tropical  lands,  for  the  birds  to 
come  and  spend  the  summer  in  Kentucky.     The 
invitations  are  sent  out  in  March,  and  accepted 
in  April  and  May,  and  by  June  her  house  is  full 
of  visitors. 

23 


Not  the  eyes  alone  love  Nature  in  March. 
Every  other  sense  hies  abroad.  My  tongue 
hunts  for  the  last  morsel  of  wet  snow  on  the 
northern  root  of  some  aged  oak.  As  one  goes 
early  to  a  concert-hall  with  a  passion  even  for 
the  preliminary  tuning  of  the  musicians,  so  my 
ear  sits  alone  in  the  vast  amphitheatre  of  Nature 
and  waits  for  the  earliest  warble  of  the  blue 
bird,  which  seems  to  start  up  somewhere  behind 
the  heavenly  curtains.  And  the  scent  of  spring, 
is  it  not  the  first  lyric  of  the  nose — that  despised 
poet  of  the  senses  ? 

But  this  year  I  have  hardly  glanced  at  the 
small  choice  edition  of  Nature's  spring  verses. 
This  by  reason  of  the  on-coming  Cobbs,  at  the 
mere  mention  of  whom  I  feel  as  though  I  were 
plunged  up  to  my  eyes  in  a  vat  of  the  prosaic. 
Some  days  ago  workmen  went  into  the  house 
and  all  but  scoured  the  very  memory  of  Jacob 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Then  there  has  been 
need  to  quiet  Mrs.  Walters. 

Mrs.  Walters  does  not  get  into  our  best 
society  ;  so  that  the  town  is  to  her  like  a  pond  to 
a  crane :  she  wades  round  it,  going  in  as  far  as 
she  can,  and  snatches  up  such  small  fry  as  come 
shoreward  from  the  middle.  In  this  way  lately 
I  have  gotten  hints  of  what  is  stirring  in  the 
vasty  deeps  of  village  opinion. 
24 


A  FALSE  IMPRESSION   OF  MRS.   COBB. 


Mrs.  Cobb  is  charged,  among  other  dreadful 
things,  with  having  ordered  of  the  town  manu 
facturer  a  carriage  that  is  to  be  as  fine  as  Presi 
dent  Taylor's  and  with  marching  into  church 
preceded  by  a  servant,  who  bears  her  prayer- 
book  on  a  velvet  cushion.  What  if  she  rode  in 
Cinderella's  coach,  or  had  her  prayer-book  car 
ried  before  her  on  the  back  of  a  Green  River 
turtle?  But  to  her  sex  she  promises  to  be  an 
invidious  Christian.  I  am  rather  disturbed  by 
the  gossip  regarding  the  elder  daughter.  But 
this  is  so  conflicting  that  one  impression  is 
made  only  to  be  effaced  by  another. 

A  week  ago  their  agent  wanted  to  buy  my 
place.     I  was  so  outraged  that  I  got  down  my 
map  of  Kentucky  to  see  where  these  peculiar 
beings  originate.     They  come  from  a  little  town 
in  the  southwestern  corner  of  the  State,  on  the 
Ohio   River,  named  Henderson  — named  from 
that  Richard  Henderson  who  in  the  year  1775 
bought  about  half  of  Kentucky  from  the  Chero- 
kees,  and  afterwards,  as  president  of  his  pur 
chase,    addressed  the  first  legislative   assembly 
ever  held  in  the  West,  seated  under  a  big  elm 
tree  outside  the  walls    of    Boonsborough   fort. 
These  people  must  be  his  heirs,  or  they  would 
never  have  tried  to  purchase  my  few  Sabine 
26 


GOT  DOWN   MY   MAP  OF  KENTUCKY. 
27 


acres.     It  is  no  surprise  to  discover  that  they 
are   from   the    Green    River    country.       They 
must  bathe  often  in  that   stream.       I   suppose 
they  wanted  my  front  yard  to  sow  it  in  penny 
royal,  the   characteristic    growth  of   those  dis 
tricts.     They  surely  distil   it  and  use    it   as   a 
perfume  on  their  handkerchiefs.      It  was  per 
haps    from    the    founder    of    this    family    that 
Thomas  Jefferson  got  authority  for   his   state 
ment  that  the  Ohio  is  the  most  beautiful  river 
in    the    world  —  unless,   indeed,   the    President 
formed  that  notion   of   the   Ohio    upon   lifting 
his  eyes  to  it  from  the  contemplation  of  Green 
River.     Henderson!     Green  River  region!     To 
this   town   and    to    the   blue-grass    country    as 
Boeotia  to  Attica  in  the  days  of  Pericles.     Here 
after  I  shall  call  these  people  my  Green  River 
Boeotians. 

A  few  days  later  their  agent  again,  a  little 
frigid,  very  urgent  —  this  time  to  buy  me  out 
on  my  own  terms,  any  terms.  But  what  was 
back  of  all  this,  I  inquired.  I  did  not  know 
these  people,  had  never  done  them  a  favour. 
Why,  then,  such  determination  to  have  me  re 
moved  ?  Why  such  bitterness,  vindictiveness, 
ungovernable  passion  ? 

That  was  the  point,  he  replied.     This  family 
28 


had  never  wronged  me.  I  had  never  even  seen 
them.  Yet  they  had  heard  of  nothing  but  my 
intense  dislike  of  them  and  opposition  to  their 
becoming  my  neighbours.  They  could  not  fore 
go  their  plans,  but  they  were  quite  willing  to 
give  me  the  chance  of  leaving  their  vicinity, 
on  whatever  I  might  regard  the  most  advanta 
geous  terms. 

Oh,  my  mocking-bird,  my  mocking-bird ! 
When  you  have  been  sitting  on  other  front 
porches,  have  you,  by  the  divine  law  of  your 
being,  been  reproducing  your  notes  as  though 
they  were  mine,  and  even  pouring  forth  the 
little  twitter  that  was  meant  for  your  private 
ear? 

As  March  goes  out,  two  things  more  and 
more  I  hear  —  the  cardinal  has  begun  to  mount 
to  the  bare  tops  of  the  locust-trees  and  scatter 
his  notes  downward,  and  over  the  way  the  work 
men  whistle  and  sing.  The  bird  is  too  shy  to 
sit  in  any  tree  on  that  side  of  the  yard.  But 
his  eye  and  ear  are  studying  them  curiously. 
Sometimes  I  even  fancy  that  he  sings  to  them 
with  a  plaintive  sort  of  joy,  as  though  he  were 
saying,  "  Welcome  —  go  away  !  " 


29 


'HE  Cobbs  will  be  the  death 
of  me  before  they  get 
here.  The  report  spread 
that  they  and  I  had  al 
ready  had  a  tremendous 
quarrel,  and  that,  rather 
than  live  beside  them,  I 
had  sold  them  my  place. 

This  set  flowing  towards  me  for  days  a  stream 
of  people,  like  a  line  of  ants  passing  to  and 
from  the  scene  of  a  terrific  false  alarm.  I  had 
nothing  to  do  but  sit  perfectly  still  and  let  each 
ant,  as  it  ran  up,  touch  me  with  its  antennae, 
get  the  counter-sign,  and  turn  back  to  the  vil 
lage  ant-hill.  Not  all,  however.  Some  remained 
to  hear  me  abuse  the  Cobbs ;  or,  counting  on 
30 


my  support,  fell  to  abusing  the  Cobbs  them 
selves.  When  I  made  not  a  word  of  reply, 
except  to  assure  them  that  I  really  had  not  quar 
relled  with  the  Cobbs,  had  nothing  against  the 
Cobbs,  and  was  immensely  delighted  that  the 
Cobbs  were  coming,  they  went  away  amazingly 
cool  and  indignant.  But  for  days  I  continued 
to  hear  such  things  attributed  to  me  that,  had 
that  young  West-Pointer  been  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  and  known  how  to  shoot,  he  must  infallibly 
have  blown  my  head  off  me,  as  any  Kentucky 
gentleman  would. 

Others  of  my  visitors,  having  heard  that  I  was 
not  to  sell  my  place,  were  so  glad  of  it  that  they 
walked  around  my  garden  and  inquired  about 
my  health  and  the  prospect  for  fruit.  For  the 
season  has  come  when  the  highest  animal  begins 
to  pay  me  some  attention.  During  the  winter, 
having  little  to  contribute  to  the  community,  I 
drop  from  communal  notice.  But  there  are  cer 
tain  ladies  who  bow  sweetly  to  me  when  my 
roses  and  honeysuckles  burst  into  bloom ;  a  fat 
old  cavalier  of  the  South  begins  to  shake  hands 
with  me  when  my  asparagus  bed  begins  to  send 
up  its  tender  stalks ;  I  am  in  high  favour  with 
two  or  three  young  ladies  at  the  season  of  lilies 
and  sweet-pea ;  there  is  one  old  soul  who  espe- 
31 


A 


CERTAIN   LADIES  WHO   BOW  SWEETLY  TO   ME. 
32 


daily  loves  rhubarb  pies,  which  she  makes  to  look 
like  little  latticed  porches  in  front  of  little  green 
skies,  and  it  is  she  who  remembers  me  and  my 
row  of  pie-plant ;  and  still  another,  who  knows 
better  than  cat-birds  when  currants  are  ripe. 
Above  all,  there  is  a  preacher,  who  thinks  my 
sins  are  as  scarlet  so  long  as  my  strawberries 
are,  and  plants  himself  in  my  bed  at  that  time 
to  reason  with  me  of  Judgment  to  come ;  and  a 
doctor,  who  gets  despondent  about  my  constitu 
tion  in  pear-time  —  after  which  my  health  seems 
to  return,  but  never  my  pears. 

So  that,  on  the  whole,  from  May  till  October 
I  am  the  bright  side  of  the  moon,  and  the  tele 
scopes  of  the  town  are  busy  observing  my  phe 
nomena  ;  after  which  it  is  as  though  I  had  rolled 
over  on  my  dark  side,  there  to  lie  forgotten  till 
once  more  the  sun  entered  the  proper  side  of  the 
zodiac.  But  let  me  except  always  the  few  stead 
ily  luminous  spirits  I  know,  with  whom  is  no 
variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning.  If  any 
one  wishes  to  become  famous  in  a  community, 
let  him  buy  a  small  farm  on  the  edge  of  it  and 
cultivate  fruits,  berries,  and  flowers,  which  he 
freely  gives  away  or  lets  be  freely  taken. 

All  this  has  taken  freely  of  my  swift  April 
days.  Besides,  I  have  made  me  a  new  side- 
D  33 


porch,  made  it  myself,  for  I  like  to  hammer  and 
drive  things  home,  and  because  the  rose  on  the 
old  one  had  rotted  it  from  post  to  shingle.  And 
then,  when  I  had  tacked  the  rose  in  place  again, 
the  little  old  window  opening  above  it  made  that 
side  of  my  house  look  like  a  boy  in  his  Saturday 
hat  and  Sunday  breeches.  So  in  went  a  large 
new  window ;  and  now  these  changes  have  mys 
teriously  offended  Mrs.  Walters,  who  says  the 
town  is  laughing  at  me  for  trying  to  outdo  the 
Cobbs.  The  highest  animal  is  the  only  one  who 
is  divinely  gifted  with  such  noble  discernment. 
But  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  my  place  look  its 
best.  When  they  see  it,  they  will  perhaps  un 
derstand  why  I  was  not  to  be  driven  out  by  a 
golden  cracker  on  their  family  whip.  They 
could  not  have  bought  my  little  woodland  pas 
ture,  where  for  a  generation  has  been  picnic  and 
muster  and  Fourth-of-July  ground,  and  where 
the  brave  fellows  met  to  volunteer  for  the  Mexi 
can  war.  They  could  not  have  bought  even  the 
heap  of  brush  behind  my  wood-pile,  where  the 
brown  thrashers  build. 


34 


\ 


MAY  I  am  of  the  earth,  earthy. 
The  soul  loses  its  wild  white 
pinions ;  the  heart  puts  forth 
its  short,  powerful  wings, 
heavy  with  heat  and  colour, 
that  flutter,  but  do  not  lift  it  off 
the  ground.  The  month  comes 
and  goes,  and  not  once  do  I 
think  of  raising  my  eyes  to  the 
stars.  The  very  sunbeams  fall 
on  the  body  as  a  warm  golden  net,  and  keep 
thought  and  feeling  from  escape.  Nature  uses 
beauty  now  not  to  uplift,  but  to  entice.  I  find 
her  intent  upon  the  one  general  business  of  see 
ing  that  no  type  of  her  creatures  gets  left  out  of 
35 


the  generations.  Studied  in  my  yard  full  of 
birds,  as  with  a  condensing  glass  of  the  world, 
she  can  be  seen  enacting  among  them  the 
dramas  of  history.  Yesterday,  in  the  secret 
recess  of  a  walnut,  I  saw  the  beginning  of  the 
Trojan  war.  Last  week  I  witnessed  the  battle 
of  Actium  fought  out  in  mid-air.  And  down 
among  my  hedges  —  indeed,  openly  in  my  very 
barn-yard  —  there  is  a  perfectly  scandalous  Salt 
Lake  City. 

And  while  I  am  watching  the  birds,  they  are 
watching  me.  Not  a  little  fop  among  them, 
having  proposed  and  been  accepted,  but  perches 
on  a  limb,  and  has  the  air  of  putting  his  hands 
mannishly  under  his  coat-tails  and  crying  out  at 
me,  "  Hello  !  Adam,  what  were  you  made  for  ?  " 
"  You  attend  to  your  business,  and  I'll  attend  to 
mine,"  I  answer.  "  You  have  one  May ;  I  have 
twenty-five ! "  He  didn't  wait  to  hear.  He 
caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  clear  brown  eyes  peep 
ing  at  him  out  of  a  near  tuft  of  leaves,  and 
sprang  thither  with  open  arms  and  the  sound  of 
a  kiss. 

But  if  I  have  twenty-five  Mays  remaining,  are 
not  some  Mays  gone  ?  Ah,  well !  Better  a  sin 
gle  May  with  the  right  mate,  than  the  full  num 
ber  with  the  wrong.  And  where  is  she  —  the 

36 


THE  NEW   NEIGHBOURS   HAVE   COME. 

37 


right  one  ?  If  she  ever  comes  near  my  yard 
and  answers  my  whistle,  I'll  know  it;  and  then 
I'll  teach  these  popinjays  in  blue  coats  and 
white  pantaloons  what  Adam  was  made  for. 

But  the  wrong  one  —  there's  the  terror ! 
Only  think  of  so  composite  a  phenomenon  as 
Mrs.  Walters,  for  instance,  adorned  with  limp 
nightcap  and  stiff  curl-papers,  like  garnishes 
around  a  leg  of  roast  mutton,  waking  up  beside 
me  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  as  some  gray- 
headed  love-bird  of  Madagascar,  and  beginning 
to  chirp  and  trill  in  an  ecstasy ! 

The  new  neighbours  have  come  —  mother, 
younger  daughter,  and  servants.  The  son  is  at 
West  Point ;  and  the  other  daughter  lingers  a 
few  days,  unable,  no  doubt,  to  tear  herself  away 
from  her  beloved  penny-royal  and  dearest  Green 
River.  They  are  quiet ;  have  borrowed  nothing 
from  any  one  in  the  neighbourhood ;  have  well- 
dressed,  well-trained  servants ;  and  one  begins 
to  be  a  little  impressed.  The  curtains  they  have 
put  up  at  the  windows  suggest  that  the  whole 
nest  is  being  lined  with  soft,  cool,  spotless  love 
liness,  which  is  very  restful  and  beguiling. 

No  one  has  called  yet,  since  they  are  not  at 
home  till  June  ;  but  Mrs.  Walters  has  done  some 
tall  wading  lately,  and  declares  that  people  do 

38 


not  know  what  to  think.  They  will  know  when 
the  elder  daughter  arrives  ;  for  it  is  the  worst 
member  of  the  family  that  settles  what  the  world 
shall  think  of  the  others. 

If  only  she  were  not  the  worst !  If  only  as  I 
sat  here  beside  my  large  new  window,  around 
which  the  old  rose-bush  has  been  trained  and 
now  is  blooming,  I  could  look  across  to  her  win 
dow  where  the  white  curtains  hang,  and  feel  that 
behind  them  sat,  shy  and  gentle,  the  wood-pigeon 
for  whom  through  Mays  gone  by  I  have  been 
vaguely  waiting ! 

And  yet  I  do  not  believe  that  I  could  live  a 
single  year  with  only  the  sound  of  cooing  in  the 
house.  A  wood-pigeon  would  be  the  death  of 
me. 


39 


VI 


'HIS  morning,  the  3d  of 
June,  the  Undine  f.om 
Green  River  roc_  above 
the  waves. 

The  strawberry  bed  is 
almost  under  their  win 
dows.  I  had  gone  out 
to  pick  the  first  dish  of 
the  season  for  breakfast; 
for  while  I  do  not  care  to  eat  except  to  live,  I 
never  miss  an  opportunity  of  living  upon  straw 
berries. 

40 


I  was  stooping  down  and  bending  the  wet 
leaves  over,  so  as  not  to  miss  any,  when  a  voice 
at  the  window  above  said,  timidly  and  playfully, 

"  Are  you  the  gardener  ?  " 

I  picked  on,  turning  as  red  as  the  berries. 
Then  the  voice  said  again, 

"  Old  man,  are  you  the  gardener  ? " 

Of  course  a  person  looking  down  carelessly  on 
the  stooping  figure  of  any  man,  and  seeing  noth 
ing  but  a  faded  straw  hat,  and  arms  and  feet 
and  ankles  bent  together,  might  easily  think  him 
decrepit  with  age.  Some  things  touch  off  my 
temper.  But  I  answered,  humbly, 

"  I  am  the  gardener,  madam." 

"  How  much  do  you  ask  for  your  straw 
berries  ? " 

"The  gentleman  who  owns  this  place  does 
not  sell  his  strawberries.  He  gives  them  away, 
if  he  likes  people.  How  much  do  you  ask  for 
your  strawberries  ? " 

"  What  a  nice  old  gentleman  !  Is  he  having 
those  picked  to  give  away  ? " 

"  He  is  having  these  picked  for  his  breakfast." 

"Don't  you  think  he'd  like  you  to  give  me 
those,  and  pick  him  some  more  ? " 

"  I  fear  not,  madam." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  might.    He'd  never  know." 
41 


'OLD   MAN,   ARE  YOU  THE  GARDENER?" 


"  I  think  he'd  find  it  out." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  him,  are  you  ? " 

"  I  am  when  he  gets  mad." 

"  Does  he  treat  you  badly  ? " 

"  If  he  does,  I  always  forgive  him." 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  provide  you  with  very 
many  clothes." 

I  picked  on. 

"  But  you  seem  nicely  fed." 

I  picked  or 

"  What  is  his  name,  old  man  ?     Don't  you  like 
to  talk?" 

"Adam  Moss." 

"  Such  a  green,  cool,  soft  name  !     It  is  like  his 
house  and  yard  and  garden.    What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"Whatever  he  pleases." 

"  You  must  not  be  impertinent  to  me,  or  I'll 
tell  him.     What  does  he  like  ?  " 

"  Birds  —  red-birds.     What  do  you  like  ?  " 

"  Red-birds !      How    does    he    catch    them  ? 
Throw  salt  on  their  tails  ? " 

"  He  is  a  lover  of  Nature,  madam,  and  partic 
ularly  of  birds." 

"What  does  he  know  about  birds?     Doesn't 
he  care  for  people  ? " 

"  He  doesn't  think  many  worth  caring  for." 

"  Indeed !     And  he  is  perfect,  then,  is  he  ?  " 
43 


I   DRESSED   UP. 
44 


"  He  thinks  he  is  nearly  as  bad  as  any ;  but 
that  doesn't  make  the  rest  any  better." 

"  Poor  old  gentleman !  He  must  have  the 
blues  dreadfully.  What  does  he  do  with  his 
birds  ?  Eat  his  robins,  and  stuff  his  cats,  and 
sell  his  red-birds  in  cages  ?  " 

"  He  considers  it  part  of  his  mission  in  life 
to  keep  them  from  being  eaten  or  stuffed  or 
caged." 

"  And  you  say  he  is  nearly  a  hundred  ?  " 

"He  is  something  over  thirty  years  of  age, 
madam." 

"  Thirty  ?  Surely  we  heard  he  was  very  old. 
And  does  he  live  in  that  beautiful  little  old 
house  all  by  himself  ?  " 

"/live  with  him  !" 

"  You  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  And  what  is  your 
name,  you  dear  good  old  man  ? " 

"  Adam." 

"  Two  Adams  living  in  the  same  house ! 
Are  you  the  old  Adam  ?  I  have  heard  so  much 
of  him." 

At  this  I  rose,  pushed  back  my  hat,  and 
looked  up  at  her. 

"  /  am   Adam    Moss,"    I   said,   with   distant 
politeness.     "You  can  have  these  strawberries 
for  your  breakfast  if  you  want  them." 
45 


OVER  TO   MY  WOODLAND   PASTURE. 


46 


There  was  a  low  quick  "Oh  ! "  and  she  was 
gone,  and  the  curtains  closed  over  her  face.  It 
was  rude ;  but  neither  ought  she  to  have  called 
me  the  old  Adam.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
one  thing :  why  should  she  speak  slightingly  of 
my  knowledge  of  birds  ?  What  does  she  know 
about  them  ?  I  should  like  to  inquire. 

Late  this  afternoon,  I  dressed  up  in  my  high 
gray  wool  hat,  my  fine  long-tailed  blue  cloth 
coat  with  brass  buttons,  my  pink  waist-coat, 
frilled  shirt,  white  cravat,  and  yellow  nankeen 
trousers,  and  walked  slowly  several  times  around 
my  strawberry  bed.  Did  not  see  any  more  ripe 
strawberries. 

Within  the  last  ten  days  1  have  called  twice 
upon  the  Cobbs,  urged  no  doubt  by  an  extrava 
gant  readiness  to  find  them  all  that  I  feared 
they  were  not.  How  exquisite  in  life  is  the  art 
of  not  seeing  many  things,  and  of  forgetting 
many  that  have  been  seen  !  They  received  me 
as  though  nothing  unpleasant  had  happened. 
Nor  did  the  elder  daughter  betray  that  we  had 
met.  She  has  not  forgotten,  for  more  than 
once  I  surprised  a  light  in  her  eyes  as  though 
she  were  laughing.  She  has  not,  it  is  certain, 
told  even  her  mother  and  sister.  Somehow  this 
47 


fact  invests  her  character  with  a  charm  as  of 
subterranean  roominess  and  secrecy.  Women 
who  tell  everything  are  like  finger-bowls  of 
clear  water. 

But  it  is  Sylvia  that  pleases  me.  She  must 
be  about  seventeen  ;  and  so  demure  and  confid 
ing  that  I  was  ready  to  take  her  by  the  hand, 
lead  her  to  the  garden-gate,  and  say :  Dear 
child,  everything  in  here  —  butterflies,  flowers, 
fruit,  honey,  everything  —  is  yours;  come  and 
go  and  gather  as  you  like. 

Yesterday  morning  I  sent  them  a  large  dish 
of  strawberries,  with  a  note  asking  whether 
they  would  walk  during  the  day  over  to  my 
woodland  pasture,  where  "the  soldiers  had  a 
barbecue  before  setting  out  for  the  Mexican 
war.  The  mother  and  Sylvia  accepted.  Our 
walk  was  a  little  overshadowed  by  their  loss ; 
and  as  I  thoughtlessly  described  the  gayety  of 
that  scene  —  the  splendid  young  fellows  danc 
ing  in  their  bright  uniforms,  and  now  and  then 
pausing  to  wipe  their  foreheads,  the  speeches, 
the  cheering,  the  dinner  under  the  trees,  and, 
a  few  days  later,  the  tear-dimmed  eyes,  the 
hand-wringing  and  embracing,  and  at  last  the 
marching  proudly  away,  each  with  a  Bible  in 
his  pocket,  and  many  never,  never  to  return  — 


I  was  sorry  that  I  had  not  foreseen  the  sacred 
chord  I  was  touching.  But  it  made  good  friends 
of  us  more  quickly,  and  they  were  well-bred,  so 
that  we  returned  to  all  appearance  in  gay  spirits. 
The  elder  daughter  came  to  meet  us,  and  went 
at  once  silently  to  her  mother's  side,  as  though 
she  had  felt  the  separation.  I  wondered  whether 
she  had  declined  to  go  because  of  the  memory 
of  her  father.  As  we  passed  my  front  gate, 
I  asked  them  to  look  at  my  flowers.  The 
mother  praised  also  the  cabbages,  thus  showing 
an  admirably  balanced  mind;  the  little  Sylvia 
fell  in  love  with  a  vine-covered  arbour;  the  elder 
daughter  appeared  to  be  secretly  watching  the 
many  birds  about  the  grounds,  but  when  I  pointed 
out  several  less-known  species,  she  lost  interest. 
What  surprises  most  is  that  they  are  so  re 
fined  and  intelligent.  It  is  greatly  to  be  feared 
that  we  Kentuckians  in  this  part  of  the  State 
are  profoundly  ignorant  as  to  the  people  in 
other  parts.  I  told  Mrs.  Walters  this,  and 
she,  seeing  that  I  am  beginning  to  like  them, 
is  beginning  to  like  them  herself.  Dear  Mrs. 
Walters  !  Her  few  ideas  are  like  three  or  four 
marbles  on  a  level  floor:  they  have  no  power 
to  move  themselves,  but  roll  equally  well  in  any 
direction  you  push  them. 
E  49 


This  afternoon  I  turned  a  lot  of  little  town 
boys  into  my  strawberry  bed,  and  now  it  looks 
like  a  field  that  had  been  harrowed  and  rolled. 


(J  '[(^»l**»v 
>J  ,T 

LITTLE  TOWN   BOYS  INTO   MY   STRAWBERRY   BED. 

I  think  they  would  gladly  have  pulled  up  some 
of  the  plants  to  see  whether  there  might  not  be 
berries  growing  on  the  roots. 

It  is  unwise  to  do  everything  that  you  can 
for  people  at  once ;  for  when  you  can  do  noth- 
50 


ing  more,  they  will  say  you  are  no  longer  like 
yourself,  and  turn  against  you.  So  I  have 
meant  to  go  slowly  with  the  Cobbs  in  my  wish 
to  be  neighbourly,  and  do  not  think  that  they 
could  reasonably  be  spoiled  on  one  dish  of 
strawberries  in  three  weeks.  But  the  other 
evening  Mrs.  Cobb  sent  over  a  plate  of  golden 
sally-lunn  on  a  silver  waiter,  covered  with  a 
snow-white  napkin;  and  acting  on  this  provo 
cation,  I  thought  they  could  be  trusted  with  a 
basket  of  cherries. 

So  next  morning,  in  order  to  save  the  ripen 
ing  fruit  on  a  rather  small  tree  of  choice  variety, 
I  thought  I  should  put  up  a  scarecrow,  and  to 
this  end  rummaged  a  closet  for  some  last  win 
ter's  old  clothes.  These  I  crammed  with  straw, 
and  I  fastened  the  resulting  figure  in  the  crotch 
of  the  tree,  tying  the  arms  to  the  adjoining  limbs, 
and  giving  it  the  dreadful  appearance  of  shout 
ing,  "  Keep  out  of  here,  you  rascals,  or  you'll 
get  hurt ! "  And,  in  truth,  it  did  look  so  like 
me  that  I  felt  a  little  uncanny  about  it  myself. 

Returning  home  late,  I  went  at  once  to  the 
tree,  where  I  found  not  a  quart  of  cherries,  and 
the  servants  told  of  an  astonishing  thing :  that 
no  sooner  had  the  birds  discovered  who  was 
standing  in  the  tree,  wearing  the  clothes  in 


which  he  used  to  feed  them  during  the  winter, 
than  the  news  spread  like  wildfire  to  the  effect 
that  he  had  climbed  up  there  and  was  calling 
out :  "  Here  is  the  best  tree,  fellows  !     Pitch  in 
and  help  yourselves  !  "     So  that  the  like  of  the 
chattering  and  fetching  away  was  never  seen 
before.     This  was  the  story ;  but  little  negroes 
love  cherries,  and  it  is  not  incredible  that  the 
American  birds  were  assisted  in  this  instance  by 
a  large  family  of  fat  young  African  spoon  bills. 
Anxious  to  save  another  tree,  and  afraid  to 
use  more  of  my  own  clothes,  I  went  over  to 
Mrs.  Walters,  and  got  from  her  an  old  bonnet 
and  veil,  a  dress  and  cape,  and  a  pair  of  her 
cast-off  yellow  gaiters.    These  garments  I  strung 
together  and  prepared  to  look  lifelike  as  nearly 
as  a  stuffing  of  hay  would  meet  the  inner  re 
quirements  of  the  case.    I  then  seated  the  dread 
apparition  in  the  fork  of  a  limb,  and  awaited 
results.      The  first  thief  was  an  old  jay,  who 
flew  towards  the  tree  with  his  head  turned  to 
one  side  to  see  whether  any  one  was  overtaking 
him.     But  scarcely  had  he  alighted  when  he 
uttered  a  scream  of  horror  that  was  sickening 
to  hear,  and  dropped  on  the  grass  beneath,  after 
which  he  took  himself  off  with  a  silence  and 
speed  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  passen- 
52 


ger-pigeon.  That  tree  was  rather  avoided  for 
some  days,  or  it  may  have  been  let  alone  merely 
because  others  were  ripening;  so  that  Mrs.  Cobb 
got  her  cherries,  and  I  sent  Mrs.  Walters  some 
also  for  the  excellent  loan  of  her  veil  and  gaiters. 

As  the  days  pass  I  fall  in  love  with  Sylvia, 
who  has  been  persuaded  to  turn  my  arbour  into 
a  reading-room,  and  is  often  to  be  found  there 
of  mornings  with  one  of  Sir  Walter's  novels. 
Sometimes  I  leave  her  alone,  sometimes  lie  on 
the  bench  facing  her,  while  she  reads  aloud,  or, 
tiring,  prattles.  Little  half-fledged  spirit,  to 
whom  the  yard  is  the  earth  and  June  eternity, 
but  who  peeps  over  the  edge  of  the  nest  at  the 
chivalry  of  the  ages,  and  fancies  that  she  knows 
the  world.  The  other  day,  as  we  were  talking, 
she  tapped  the  edge  of  her  Ivanhoe  with  a  slate- 
pencil —  for  she  is  also  studying  the  Greatest 
Common  Divisor  —  and  said,  warningly,  "You 
must  not  make  epigrams ;  for  if  you  succeeded 
you  would  be  brilliant,  and  everything  brilliant 
is  tiresome." 

"  Who  is  your  authority  for  that  epigram,  Miss 
Sylvia  ?  "  I  said,  laughing. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  that  I  have  any  ideas 
but  what  I  get  from  books  ?  " 
53 


"  You  may  have  all  wisdom,  but  those  sayings 
proceed  only  from  experience." 

"  I  have  my  intuitions ;  they  are  better  than 
experience." 

"  If  you  keep  on,  you  will  be  making  epigrams 
presently,  and  then  I  shall  find  you  tiresome, 
and  go  away." 

"  You  couldn't.  I  am  your  guest.  How  un 
conventional  I  am  to  come  over  and  sit  in  your 
arbour  ?  But  it  is  Georgiana's  fault." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  to  come  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  she  didn't  keep  me  from  coming. 
Whenever  any  one  of  us  does  anything  improper 
we  always  say  to  each  other,  '  It's  Georgiana's 
fault.  She  ought  not  to  have  taught  us  to  be  so 
simple  and  unconventional.  '  " 

"  And  is  she  the  family  governess  ?  " 

"She  governs  the  family.  There  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any  real  government,  but  we  all  do 
as  she  says.  You  might  think  at  first  that 
Georgiana  was  the  most  light-headed  member 
of  the  family,  but  she  isn't.  She's  deep.  I'm 
shallow  in  comparison  with  her.  She  calls  me 
sophisticated,  and  introduces  me  as  the  elder 
Miss  Cobb,  and  says  that  if  I  don't  stop  reading 
Scott's  novels  and  learn  more  arithmetic  she 
will  put  white  caps  on  me,  and  make  me  walk 
54 


to  church  in  carpet  slippers  and  with   grand 
mother's  stick." 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  have  stopped,  Miss 
Sylvia." 

"  No  ;  but  I'm  stopping.     Georgiana  always 
gives  us  time,  but  we  get  right  at  last.     It  was 
two  years  before  she  could  make  my  brother  go 
to  West   Point.     He  was  wild  and  rough,  and 
wanted  to  raise  tobacco,  and  float  with  it  down 
to  New  Orleans,  and  have  a  good  time.     Then 
when  she  had  gotten  him  to  go  she  was  afraid 
he'd   come   back,    and   so   she   persuaded    my 
mother  to  live  here,  where  there  isn't  any  to 
bacco,  and  where  I  could   be    sent   to   school. 
That  took  her  a  year,  and  now  she  is  breaking 
up  my  habit   of   reading   nothing   but   novels. 
She  gets  us  all  down  in  the  end.    One  day  when 
she  and  Joe  were  little  children  they  were  out  at 
the  wood-pile,  and  Georgiana  was  sitting  on  a 
log  eating  a  jam  biscuit,  with  her  feet  on  the  log 
in  front  of  her.     Joe  had  a  hand-axe,  and  was 
chopping  at  anything  till  he  caught  sight  of  her 
feet.     Then  he  went  to  the  end  of  the  log,  and 
whistled  like  a  steamboat,  and  began  to  hack 
down  in  that  direction,  calling  out  to  her  :  *  Take 
your  toes   out   of   the  way,  Georgiana.     I    am 
coming  down  the  river.     The  current  is  up  and 
55 


I  can't  stop.'  'My  toes  were  there  first/ said 
Georgiana,  and  went  on  eating  her  biscuit. 
'Take  them  out  of  the  way,  I  tell  you,'  he 
shouted  as  he  came  nearer,  '  or  they'll  get  cut 
off.'  'They  were  there  first,'  repeated  Geor 
giana,  and  took  another  delicious  nibble.  Joe 
cut  straight  along,  and  went  whack!  right  into 
her  five  toes.  Georgiana  screamed  with  all  her 
might,  but  she  held  her  foot  on  the  log,  till  Joe 
dropped  the  hatchet  with  horror,  and  caught  her 
in  his  arms.  'Georgiana,  I  told  you  to  take 
your  toes  away,'  he  cried;  'you  are  such  a  little 
fool,'  and  ran  with  her  to  the  house.  But  she 
always  had  control  over  him  after  that." 

To-day  I  saw  Sylvia  enter  the  arbour,  and 
shortly  afterwards  I  followed  with  a  book. 

"  When  you  stop  reading  novels  and  begin  to 
read  history,  Miss  Sylvia,  here  is  the  most  re 
markable  history  of  Kentucky  that  was  ever 
written  or  ever  will  be.  It  is  by  my  father's 
old  teacher  of  natural  history  in  Transylvania 
University,  Professor  Rafinesque,  who  also  had 
a  wonderful  botanical  garden  on  this  side  of  the 
town ;  perhaps  the  first  ever  seen  in  this  coun 
try." 

"I  know  all  about  it,"  replied  Sylvia,  resent- 
56 


ing  this  slight  upon  her  erudition.  "  Georgian^ 
has  my  father's  copy,  and  his  was  presented  to 
him  by  Mr.  Audubon." 

"  Audubon  !  "  I  said,  with  a  doubt. 

"  Never  heard  of  Audubon  ? "  cried  Sylvia, 
delighted  to  show  up  my  ignorance. 

"Only  of  the  great  Audubon,  Miss  Sylvia; 
the  great,  the  very  great  Audubon." 

"  Well,  this  was  the  great,  the  very  great 
Audubon.  He  lived  in  Henderson,  and  kept  a 
corn-mill.  He  and  my  father  were  friends,  and 
he  gave  my  father  some  of  his  early  drawings 
of  Kentucky  birds.  Georgiana  has  them  now, 
and  that  is  where  she  gets  her  love  of  birds  — 
from  my  father,  who  got  his  from  the  great,  the 
very  great  Audubon." 

"Would  Miss  Cobb  let  me  see  these  draw 
ings  ? "  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  She  might ;  but  she  prizes  them  as  much  as 
if  they  were  stray  leaves  out  of  the  only  Bible 
in  the  world." 

As  Sylvia  turned  inside  out  this  pocket  of 
her  mind,  there  had  dropped  out  a  key  to  her 
sister's  conduct.  Now  I  understood  her  slight 
ing  attitude  towards  my  knowledge  of  birds. 
But  I  shall  feel  some  interest  in  Miss  Cobb 
from  this  time  on.  I  never  dreamed  that  she 
57 


could  bring  me  fresh  news  of  that  rare  spirit 
whom  I  have  so  wished  to  see,  and  for  one 
week  in  the  woods  with  whom  I  would  give  any 
year  of  my  life.  Are  they  possibly  the  Hen 
derson  family  to  whom  Audubon  intrusted  the 
box  of  his  original  drawings  during  his  absence 
in  Philadelphia,  and  who  let  a  pair  of  Norway 
rats  rear  a  family  in  it,  and  cut  to  pieces  nearly 
a  thousand  inhabitants  of  the  air  ? 

There  are  two  more  days  of  June.  Since  the 
talk  with  Sylvia  I  have  called  twice  more  upon 
the  elder  Miss  Cobb.  Upon  reflection,  it  is 
misleading  to  refer  to  this  young  lady  in  terms 
so  dry,  stiff,  and  denuded ;  and  I  shall  drop 
into  Sylvia's  form,  and  call  her  simply  Geor- 
giana.  That  looks  better  —  Georgiana  !  It 
sounds  well,  too  —  Georgiana  ! 

Georgiana,  then,  is  a  rather  elusive  character. 
The  more  I  see  of  her  the  less  I  understand 
her.  If  your  nature  draws  near  hers,  it  retreats. 
If  you  pursue,  it  flies  —  a  little  frightened  per 
haps.  If  then  you  keep  still  and  look  perfectly 
safe,  she  will  return,  but  remain  at  a  fixed  dis 
tance,  like  a  bird  that  will  stay  in  your  yard, 
but  not  enter  your  house.  It  is  hardly  shyness, 
for  she  is  not  shy,  but  more  like  some  strain  of 
58 


wild  nature  in  her  that  refuses  to  be  domesti 
cated.  One's  faith  is  strained  to  accept  Sylvia's 
estimate  that  Georgiana  is  deep  —  she  is  so 
light,  so  airy,  so  playful.  Sylvia  is  a  demure 
little  dove  that  has  pulled  over  itself  an  owl's 
sMn,  and  is  much  prouder  of  its  wicked  old 
feathers  than  of  its  innocent  heart;  but  Geor: 
giana  —  what  isshej  Secretly  an  owl  with 
thebuoyancy  of  a  humming-bird?  Howeyej:. 
ifsnothing  to  me.  She  hovers  around  her 
mother  and  Slvia  with  a  fondness  that  is 


of  Audubon  and  her  father,  for  it  is  never  well 
to  let  an  elder  sister  know  that  a  younger  one 
has  been  talking  about  her.  I  merely  gave 
her  several  chances  to  speak  of  birds,  but  she 
ignored  them.  As  for  me  and  my  love  of  birds, 
such  trifles  are  beneath  her  notice.  I  don't  like 
her,  and  it  will  not  be  worth  while  to  call  again 
soon,  though  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see  those 
drawings. 

This  morning  as  I  was  accidentally  passing 
under  her  window  I  saw  her  at  it  and  lifted  my 
hat.  She  leaned  over  with  her  cheek  in  her 
palm,  and  said,  smiling, 

"  You  mustn't  spoil  Sylvia  !  " 

"  What  is  my  definite  offence  in  that  regard?  " 
59 


"  Too  much  arbour,  too  many  flowers,  too  much 
fine  treatment." 

"  Does  fine  treatment  ever  harm  anybody  ? 
Is  it  not  bad  treatment  that  spoils  people  ? " 

"  Good  treatment  may  never  spoil  people  who 
are  old  enough  to  know  its  rarity  and  value. 
But  you  say  you  are  a  student  of  nature ;  have 
you  not  observed  that  nature  never  lets  the 
sugar  get  to  things  until  they  are  ripe  ?  Chil 
dren  must  be  kept  tart." 

"  The  next  time  that  Miss  Sylvia  comes  over, 
then,  I  am  to  give  her  a  tremendous  scolding 
and  a  big  basket  of  green  apples." 

"  Or,  what  is  worse,  suppose  you  encourage 
her  to  study  the  Greatest  Common  Divisor?  I 
am  trying  to  get  her  ready  for  school  in  the  fall." 

"  Is  she  being  educated  for  a  teacher? " 

''You  know  that  Southern  ladies  never  teach." 

"  Then  she  will  never  need  the  Greatest  Com 
mon  Divisor.  I  have  known  many  thousands  of 
human  beings,  and  none  but  teachers  ever  has 
the  least  use  for  the  Greatest  Common  Divisor." 

tf  But  she  needs  to  do  things  that  she  dislikes. 
We  all  do." 

I  smiled  at  the  memory  of  a  self-willed  little 
bare  foot  on  a  log  years  ago. 

"  I  shall  see  that  my  grape  arbour  does  not 
60 


further  interfere  with    Miss    Sylvia's   progress 
towards  perfection." 

"  Why  didn't  you  wish  us  to  be  your  neigh 
bours  ? " 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  the  right  sort 
of  people." 

"  Are  we  the  right  sort  ? " 

"The  value  of  my  land  has  almost  been 
doubled." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  know  that  you  approve 
of  us  on  those  grounds.  Will  the  value  of  our 
land  rise  also,  do  you  think  ?  And  why  do  you 
suppose  we  objected  to  you  as  a  neighbour? " 

"  I  cannot  imagine." 

"The  imagination  can  be  cultivated,  you 
know.  Then  tell  me  this  :  why  do  Kentuckians 
in  this  part  of  Kentucky  think  so  much  of  them 
selves  compared  with  the  rest  of  the  world  ? " 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  they  are  Virginians. 
There  may  be  various  reasons." 

"Do  the  people  ever  tell  what  the  reasons 
are  ? " 

"  I  have  never  heard  one." 

"  And  if  we  stayed  here  long  enough,  and 
imitated  them  closely,  do  you  suppose  we  would 
get  to  feel  the  same  way  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

61 


"  It  must  be  so  pleasant  to  consider  Kentucky 
the  best  part  of  the  world,  and  your  part  of 
Kentucky  the  best  of  the  State,  and  your  family 
the  best  of  all  the  best  families  in  that  best  part, 
and  yourself  the  best  member  of  your  family. 
Ought  not  that  to  make  one  perfectly  happy?" 
"  I  have  often  observed  that  it  seems  to  do  so." 
"  It  is  delightful   to  remember  that  you  ap 
prove  of  us.     And  we  should  feel  so  glad  to  be 
able  to  return  the  compliment.     Good-bye !  " 

Any  one  would  have  to  admit,  however,  that 
there  is  no  sharpness  in  Georgiana's  pleasantry. 
The  child-nature  in  her  is  so  sunny,  sportive,  so 
bent  on  harmless  mischief.  She  still  plays  with 
life  as  a  kitten  with  a  ball  of  yarn.  Some  day 
Kitty  will  fall  asleep  with  the  Ball  poised  in 
the  cup  of  one  foot.  Then,  waking,  when  her 
dream  is  over,  she  will  find  that  her  plaything 
has  become  a  rocky,  thorny,  storm-swept,  im 
measurable  world,  and  that  she,  a  woman,  stands 
holding  out  towards  it  her  imploring  arms,  and 
asking  only  for  some  littlest  part  in  its  infinite 
destinies. 

After  the  last  talk  with  Georgiana  I  felt  re 
newed  desire  to  see  those  Audubon  drawings. 
62 


So  yesterday  morning  I  sent  over  to  her  some 
things  written  by  a  Northern  man,  whom  I  call 
the  young  Audubon  of  the  Maine  woods.  His 
name  is  Henry  D.  Thoreau,  and  it  is,  I  believe, 
known  only  to  me  down  here.  Everything  that 
I  can  find  of  his  is  as  pure  and  cold  and  lonely 
as  a  wild  cedar  of  the  mountain  rocks,  standing 
far  above  its  smokeless  valley  and  hushed  white 
river.  She  returned  them  to-day,  with  word 
that  she  would  thank  me  in  person,  and  to-night 
I  went  over  in  a  state  of  rather  senseless  eager 
ness. 

Her  mother  and  sister  had  gone  out,  and  she 
sat  on  the  dark  porch  alone.  The  things  of 
Thoreau's  have  interested  her,  and  she  asked 
me  to  tell  her  all  I  knew  of  him,  which  was  little 
enough.  Then  of  her  own  accord  she  began  to 
speak  of  her  father  and  Audubon  —  of  the  one 
with  the  worship  of  love,  of  the  other  with  the 
worship  of  greatness.  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
in  a  moonlit  cathedral ;  for  her  voice,  the  whole 
revelation  of  her  nature,  made  the  spot  so  im 
pressive  and  so  sacred.  She  scarcely  addressed 
me ;  she  was  communing  with  them.  Nothing 
that  her  father  told  her  regarding  Audubon 
appears  to  have  been  forgotten ;  and,  brought 
nearer  than  ever  before  to  that  lofty,  tireless 
63 


spirit  in  its  wanderings  through  the  Kentucky 
forests,  I  almost  forgot  her  to  whom  I  was  lis 
tening.  But  in  the  midst  of  it  she  stopped,  and 
it  was  again  kitten  and  yarn.  I  left  quite  as 
abruptly.  Upon  my  soul  I  believe  that  Georgi- 
ana  doesn't  think  me  worth  talking  to  seriously. 


VII 


ULY   has    dragged   like   a  log 
across  a  wet  field. 

There     was     the      Fourth, 
which  is  always  the  grandest 
occasion  of  the  year  with  us. 
Society  has  taken  up    Sylvia 
and  rejected  Georgiana;    and 
so    with    its    great   gallantry, 
and  to  her  boundless  delight, 
Sylvia  was  invited  to  sit  with  a  bevy  of  girls  in 
a  large  furniture  wagon  covered  with  flags  and 
F  65 


bunting.  The  girls  were  to  be  dressed  in  white, 
carry  flowers  and  flags,  and  sing  "The  Star- 
Spangled  Banner "  in  the  procession,  just  be 
fore  the  fire-engine.  I  wrote  a  note  to  Geor- 
giana,  asking  whether  it  would  interfere  with 
Sylvia's  Greatest  Common  Divisor  if  I  presented 
her  with  a  profusion  of  elegant  flowers  on  that 
occasion.  Georgiana  herself  had  equipped  Syl 
via  with  a  truly  exquisite  silken  flag  on  a  silver 
staff;  and  as  Sylvia  both  sang  and  waved  with 
all  her  might,  not  only  to  keep  up  the  Green 
River  reputation  in  such  matters,  but  with  a 
mediaeval  determination  to  attract  a  young  man 
on  the  fire-engine  behind,  she  quite  eclipsed 
every  other  miss  in  the  wagon,  and  was  not 
even  hoarse  when  persuaded  at  last  to  stop.  So 
that  several  of  the  representatives  of  the  other 
States  voted  afterwards  in  a  special  congress 
that  she  was  loud,  and  in  no  way  as  nice  as 
they  had  fancied,  and  that  they  ought  never 
to  recognize  her  again  except  in  church  and 
at  funerals. 

And  then  the  month  brought  down  from  West 
Point  the  son  of  the  family,  who  cut  off —  or  cut 
at  —  Georgiana's  toes,  I  remember.  With  him 
a  sort  of  cousin,  who  lives  in  New  York  State ; 
and  after  a  few  days  of  toploftical  strutting 
66 


TOPLOFTICAL   STRUTTING. 


around  town,  and  a  pusillanimous  crack  or  two 
over  the  back-garden  fence  at  my  birds,  they 
went  away  again,  to  the  home  of  this  New  York 
cousin,  carrying  Georgiana  with  them  to  spend 
the  summer. 

Nothing  has  happened  since.  Only  Sylvia 
and  I  have  been  making  hay  while  the  sun 
shines  —  or  does  not  shine,  if  one  chooses  to 
regard  Georgiana's  absence  in  that  cloudy 
fashion.  Sylvia's  ordinary  armour  consists  of  a 
slate-pencil  for  a  spear,  a  slate  for  a  shield,  and 
a  volume  of  Sir  Walter  for  a  bludgeon.  Now 
and  then  I  have  found  her  sitting  alone  in  the 
arbour  with  the  drooping  air  of  Lucy  Ashton 
beside  the  fountain ;  and  she  would  be  better 
pleased  if  I  met  her  clandestinely  there  in 
cloak  and  plume  with  the  deadly  complexion 
of  Ravenswood. 

The  other  day  I  caught  her  toiling  at  some 
thing,  and  she  admitted  being  at  work  on  a  poem 
which  would  be  about  half  as  long  as  the  "  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."  She  read  me  the  open 
ing  lines,  after  that  bland  habit  of  young  writ 
ers  ;  and  as  nearly  as  I  recollect,  they  began  as 
follows  : 

"  I  love  to  see  gardens  and  arbours  and  plants  ; 
I  love  the  fine  air,  but  not  my  fine  aunts." 
68 


When  not  under  the  spell  of  mediaeval  chiv 
alry  she  prattles  needlessly  of  Georgiana,  early 
life,  and  their  old  home  in  Henderson.  Al 
though  I  have  pointed  out  to  her  the  gross 
impropriety  of  her  conduct,  she  has  persisted 
in  reading  me  some  of  Georgiana's  letters 
written  from  the  home  of  that  New  York  cousin, 
whose  mother  they  are  now  visiting.  I  didn't 
like  him  particularly.  Sylvia  relates  that  he 
was  a  favourite  of  her  father's. 

The  dull  month  passes  to-day.  One  thing  I 
have  secretly  wished  to  learn :  did  her  brother 
cut  Georgiana's  toes  entirely  off  ? 


VIII 

AUGUST  the  pale  and 
delicate  poetry  of  the 
Kentucky  land  makes 
itself  felt  as  silence  and 
repose.  Still  skies,  still 
woods,  still  sheets  of 
forest  water,  still  flocks 
and  herds,  long  lanes  winding  without  the  sound 
of  a  traveller  through  fields  of  the  universal 
brooding  stillness.  The  sun  no  longer  blaz 
ing,  but  muffled  in  a  veil  of  palest  blue.  No 

70 


more   black   clouds   rumbling   and  rushing  up 
from  the  horizon,  but  a  single  white  one  brush 
ing  slowly  against  the  zenith  like  the  lost  wing 
of  a  swan.     Far  beneath  it  the  silver-breasted 
hawk,  using   the   cloud   as   his   lordly  parasol. 
The   eagerness    of    spring    gone,    now   all  but 
incredible   as   having   ever    existed;   the  birds 
hushed  and  hiding;    the  bee,  so  nimble   once, 
fallen   asleep   over  his  own  cider-press  in  the 
shadow  of  the  golden  apple.     From  the  depths 
of  the  woods  may  come  the  notes  of  the  cuckoo  ; 
but  they  strike  the  air  more  and  more  slowly, 
like  the  clack,  clack,  clack  of   a  distant  wheel 
that  is  being   stopped  at  the  close  of   harvest. 
The  whirring  wings  of  the  locust  let  themselves 
go  in  one  long  wave  of  sound,  passing  into  si 
lence.     All  nature  is  a  vast  sacred  goblet,  filling 
drop  by  drop  to  the  brim,  and  not  to  be  shaken. 
But  the  stalks  of  the  later  flowers  begin  to  be 
stuffed  with  hurrying  bloom  lest  they  be  too  late ; 
and  the  nighthawk  rapidly  mounts  his  stairway 
of  flight  higher  and  higher,  higher  and  higher, 
as  though  he  would  rise  above  the  warm  white 
sea  of  atmosphere  and  breathe  in  cold  ether. 

Always  in  August  my  nature  will  go  its  own 
way  and  seek  its  own  peace.     I  roam  solitary, 
but  never  alone,   over  this   rich  pastoral  land, 
71 


crossing  farm  after  farm,  and  keeping  as  best  I 
can  out  of  sight  of  the  labouring  or  loitering 
negroes.  For  the  sight  of  them  ruins  every 
landscape,  and  I  shall  never  feel  myself  free 
till  they  are  gone.  What  if  they  sing?  The 
more  is  the  pity  that  any  human  being  could 
be  happy  enough  to  sing  so  long  as  he  was  a 
^slave  in  any  thought  or  fibre  of  his  nature. 

Sometimes  it  is  through  the  aftermath  of  fat 
wheat-fields,  where  float  like  myriad  little  nets 
of  silver  gauze  the  webs  of  the  crafty  weavers, 
and  where  a  whole  world  of  winged  small  folk 
flit  from  tree-top  to  tree-top  of  the  low  weeds. 
They   are   all   mine  — these    Kentucky   wheat- 
fields.     After  the  owner  has  taken  from  them 
his  last  sheaf  I  come  in  and  gather  my  harvest 
also  — one  that   he  did  not  see,  and  doubtless 
would  not  begrudge  me  —  the  harvest  of  beauty. 
Or  I  walk  beside  tufted  aromatic  hemp-fields, 
as  along  the  shores  of  softly  foaming  emerald 
seas;    or   past   the   rank   and   file  of   fields  of 
Indian-corn,  which  stand  like  armies  that  had 
gotten  ready  to  march,  but  been  kept  waiting 
for  further  orders,  until  at  last  the  soldiers  had 
grown  tired,  as  the  gayest  will,  of  their  yellow 
plumes  and   green   ribbons,  and    let   their   big 
hands  fall  heavily  down  at  their  sides.     There 
72 


the  white  and  the  purple  morning-glories  hang 
their  long  festoons  and  open  to  the  soft  mid 
night  winds  their  elfin  trumpets. 

This  year  as  never  before  I  have  felt  the 
beauty  of  the  world.  And  with  the  new  bright 
ness  in  which  every  common  scene  has  been 
apparelled  there  has  stirred  within  me  a  need 
of  human  companionship  unknown  in  the  past. 
It  is  as  if  Nature  had  spread  out  her  last  loveli 
ness  and  said :  "  See !  You  have  before  you 
now  all  that  you  can  ever  get  from  me !  It  is 
not  enough.  Realize  this  in  time.  I  am  your 
Mother.  Love  me  as  a  child.  But  remember  ! 
such  love  can  be  only  a  little  part  of  your  life." 

Therefore  I  have  spent  the  month  restless, 
on  the  eve  of  change,  drawn  to  Nature,  driven 
from  her.  In  September  it  will  be  different, 
for  then  there  are  more  things  to  do  on  my 
small  farm,  and  I  see  people  on  account  of  my 
grapes  and  pears.  My  malady  this  August  has 
been  an  idle  mind  —  so  idle  that  a  letter  from 
Georgiana  seems  its  main  event.  This  was 
written  from  the  old  home  of  Audubon  on  the 
Hudson,  whither  they  had  gone  sight-seeing. 
It  must  have  been  to  her  much  like  a  pilgrim 
age  to  a  shrine.  She  wrote  informally,  telling 
me  about  the  place  and  enclosing  a  sprig  of 
73 


I   SEE  PEOPLE  ON  ACCOUNT  OF  MY  GRAPES  AND   PEARS. 

74 


cedar  from  one  of  the  trees  in  the  yard.  Her 
mind  was  evidently  overflowing  on  the  subject. 
It  was  rather  pleasant  to  have  the  overflow 
turned  my  way.  I  shall  plant  the  cedar  where 
it  will  stay  always  green. 

I  saw  Georgiana  once  more  before  her  leav 
ing.  The  sudden  appearance  of  her  brother 
and  cousin,  and  the  news  that  she  would  return 
with  them  for  the  summer,  spurred  me  up  to 
make  another  attempt  at  those  Audubon  draw 
ings. 

How  easy  it  was  to  get  them  !  It  is  what  a 
man  thinks  a  woman  will  be  willing  to  do  that 
she  seldom  does.  But  she  made  a  confession. 
When  she  first  found  that  I  was  a  smallish 
student  of  birds,  she  feared  I  would  not  like 
Audubon/  since  men  so  often  sneer  at  those 
who  do  in  a  grand  way  what  they  can  do  only 
in  a  poor  one.  I  had  another  revelation  of 
Georgiana's  more  serious  nature,  which  is 
always  aroused  by  the  memory  of  her  father. 
There  is  something  beautiful  and  steadfast  in 
this  girl's  soul.  In  our  hemisphere  vines  climb 
round  from  left  to  right;  if  Georgiana  loved 
you  she  would,  if  bidden,  reverse  every  law  of 
her  nature  for  you  as  completely  as  a  vine  that 
you  had  caused  to  twine  from  right  to  left. 
75 


Sylvia  enters  school  the  ist  of  September, 
and  Georgiana  is  to  be  at  home  then  to  see  to 
that.  How  surely  she  drives  this  family  before 
her  —  and  with  as  gentle  a  touch  as  that  of  a 
slow  south  wind  upon  the  clouds. 

Those  poor  first  drawings  of  Audubon !  He 
succeeded  ;  we  study  his  early  failings.  The 
world  never  studies  the  failures  of  those  who 
do  not  succeed  in  the  end. 

The  birds  are  moulting.  If  man  could  only 
moult  also  —  his  mind  once  a  year  its  errors, 
his  heart  once  a  year  its  useless  passions  !  How 
fine  we  should  all  look  if  every  August  the  old 
plumage  of  our  natures  would  drop  out  and  be 
blown  away,  and  fresh  quills  take  the  vacant 
places!  But  we  have  one  set  of  feathers  to 

last  us  through  our  three-score  years  and  ten 

one  set  of  spotless  feathers,  which  we  are  told 
to  keep  spotless  through  all  our  lives  in  a  dirty 
world.  If  one  gets  broken,  broken  it  stays  ; 
if  one  gets  blackened,  nothing  will  cleanse  it. 
No  doubt  we  shall  all  fly  home  at  last,  like  a 
flock  of  pigeons  that  were  once  turned  loose 
snow-white  from  the  sky,  and  made  to  descend 
and  fight  one  another  and  fight  everything  else 
for  a  poor  living  amid  soot  and  mire.  If  then 
the  hand  of  the  unseen  Fancier  is  stretched 


forth  to  draw  us  in,  how  can  he  possibly 
smite  any  one  of  us,  or  cast  us  away,  because 
we  come  back  to  him  black  and  blue  with 
bruises,  and  besmudged  and  bedraggled  past 
recognition ! 


77 


IX 

•  O-DAY,    the    ;th    of 

September,  I  made  a 
discovery.  The  pair 
of  red  -  birds  that 
built  in  my  cedar- 
trees  last  winter  got 
duly  away  with  the 
brood.  Several  times 
during  summer  ram 
bles  I  cast  my  eye 
about,  but  they  were  not  to  be  seen.  Early 
this  afternoon  I  struck  out  across  the  country 
towards  a  sink-hole  in  a  field  two  miles  away, 
some  fifty  yards  in  diameter,  very  deep,  and 
enclosed  by  a  fence.  A  series  of  these  cir 
cular  basins,  at  regular  intervals  apart,  runs 
across  the  country  over  there,  suggesting  the 
78 


remains  of  ancient  earth-works.  The  bottom 
had  dropped  out  of  this  one,  probably  commu 
nicating  with  the  many  caves  that  are  charac 
teristic  of  this  blue  limestone. 

Within  the  fence  everything  is  an  impene 
trable  thicket  of  weeds  and  vines  —  blackberry, 
thistle,  ironweed,  pokeweed,  elder,  golden-rod. 
As  I  drew  near,  I  saw  two  or  three  birds  dive 
down,  with  the  shy  way  they  have  at  this  season ; 
and  when  I  came  to  the  edge,  everything  was 
quiet.  But  I  threw  a  stone  at  a  point  where 
the  tangle  was  deep,  and  there  was  a  great 
fluttering  and  scattering  of  the  pretenders.  And 
then  occurred  more  than  I  had  looked  for.  The 
stone  had  hardly  struck  the  brush  when  what 
looked  like  a  tongue  of  vermilion  flame  leaped 
forth  near  by,  and,  darting  across,  struck  itself 
out  of  sight  in  the  green  vines  on  the  opposite 
slope.  A  male  and  a  female  cardinal  flew  up 
also,  balancing  themselves  on  sprays  of  the 
blackberry,  and  uttering  excitedly  their  quick 
call-notes.  I  whistled  to  the  male  as  I  had  been 
used,  and  he  recognized  me  by  shooting  up  his 
crest,  and  hopping  to  nearer  twigs  with  louder 
inquiry.  All  at  once,  as  if  an  idea  had  urged 
him,  he  sprang  across  to  the  spot  where  the 
first  frightened  male  had  disappeared.  I  could 
79 


WELCOMED   HER   GAYLY. 

80 


still  hear  him  under  the  vines,  and  presently  he 
reappeared  and  flew  up  into  a  locust-tree  on  the 
farther  edge  of  the  basin,  followed  by  the  other. 
What  had  taken  place  or  took  place  then  I  do 
not  know ;  but  I  wished  he  might  be  saying : 
"  My  son,  that  man  over  there  is  the  one  who 
was  very  good  to  your  mother  and  me  last  win 
ter,  and  who  owns  the  tree  you  were  born  in. 
I  have  warned  you,  of  course,  never  to  trust 
Man ;  but  I  would  advise  you,  when  you  have 
.  found  your  sweetheart,  to  give  him  a  trial,  and 
take  her  to  his  cedar-trees." 

If  he  said  anything  like  this,  it  certainly 
had  a  terrible  effect  on  the  son ;  for,  having 
mounted  rapidly  to  the  tree-top,  he  clove  the 
blue  with  his  scarlet  wings  as  though  he  were 
flying  from  death.  I  lost  sight  of  him  over 
a  corn-field. 

One  fact  pleased  me :  the  father  returned  to 
his  partner  under  the  briers,  for  he  is  not  of  the 
lower  sort  who  forget  the  mother  when  the 
children  are  reared.  They  hold  faithfully  to 
gether  during  the  ever  more  silent,  ever  more 
shadowy  autumn  days ;  his  warming  breast  is 
close  to  hers  through  frozen  winter  nights ;  and 
if  they  both  live  to  see  another  May  she  is  still 
all  the  world  to  him,  and  woe  to  any  brilliant 
G  81 


vagabond  who  should  warble  a  wanton  love-song 
under  her  holy  windows. 

Georgiana  returned  the  last  of  August.  The 
next  morning  she  was  at  her  window,  looking 
across  into  my  yard.  I  was  obliged  to  pass  that 
way,  and  welcomed  her  gayly,  expressing  my 
thanks  for  the  letter. 

"  I  had  to  come  back,  you  see,"  she  said,  with 
calm  simplicity.  I  lingered  awkwardly,  strip 
ping  upward  the  stalks  of  some  weeds. 

"Very  few  Kentucky  birds  are  migratory," 
I  replied  at  length,  with  desperate  brilliancy  and 
an  overwhelming  grimace. 

"I  shall  go  back  some  time  —  to  stay,"  she 
said,  and  turned  away  with  a  parting  faintest 
smile. 

Is  that  West  Point  brother  giving  trouble? 
If  so,  the  sooner  a  war  breaks  out  and  he  gets 
killed,  the  better.  One  thing  is  certain :  if,  for 
the  next  month,  fruit  and  flowers  will  give  Geor 
giana  any  pleasure,  she  shall  have  a  good  deal 
of  pleasure.  She  is  so  changed!  But  why 
need  I  take  on  about  it? 

They  have  been  cleaning  out  a  drain  under 
the  streets  along  the  Town  Fork  of  Elkhorn, 
and  several  people  are  down  with  fever. 


82 


EW-YEAR'S  night  again,  and 
bitter  cold. 

When  I  forced  myself 
away  from  my  fire  before 
dark,  and  ran  down  to  the 
stable  to  see  about  feed 
ing  and  bedding  the  horses 
83 


and  cows,  every  beast  had  its  head  drawn  in 
towards  its  shoulders,  and  looked  at  me  with 
the  dismal  air  of  saying,  "  Who  is  tempering 
the  wind  now  ?  "  The  dogs  in  the  kennel,  with 
their  noses  between  their  hind-legs,  were  shiver 
ing  under  their  blankets  and  straw  like  a  nest 
of  chilled  young  birds.  The  fowls  on  the  roost 
were  mere  white  and  blue  puffs  of  feathers. 
Nature  alone  has  the  keeping  of  her  creatures ; 
why  doesn't  she  make  them  comfortable  ? 

After  supper  old  Jack  and  Dilsy  came  in,  and 
standing  against  the  wall  with  their  arms  folded, 
told  me  more  of  what  happened  after  I  got 
sick.  That  was  about  the  middle  of  September, 
and  it  is  only  two  weeks  since  I  became  well 
enough  to  go  in  and  out  through  all  sorts  of 
weather. 

It  was  the  middle  of  September  then,  my  ser 
vants  said,  and  as  within  a  week  after  taking 
the  fever  I  was  very  ill,  a  great  many  people 
came  out  to  inquire  for  me.  Some  of  these, 
walking  around  the  garden,  declared  it  was  a 
pity  for  such  fruit  and  flowers  to  be  wasted,  and 
so  helped  themselves  freely  every  time.  The 
old  doctor,  who  always  fears  for  my  health  at 
this  season,  stopped  by  nearly  every  day  to 
repeat  how  he  had  warned  me,  and  always 
84 


KNOCKED   REPROACHFULLY. 


walked  back  to  his  gig  in  a  roundabout  way, 
which  required  him  to  pass  a  favourite  tree ;  and 
once  he  was  so  indignant  to  find  several  other 
persons  gathered  there,  and  mournfully  enjoy 
ing  the  last  of  the  fruit  as  they  predicted  I 
would  never  get  well,  that  he  came  back  to  the 
house  —  with  two  pears  in  each  duster  pocket 
and  one  in  his  mouth  —  and  told  Jack  it  was  an 
outrage.  The  preacher,  likewise,  who  appears 
in  the  spring-time,  one  afternoon  knocked  re 
proachfully  at  the  front  door  and  inquired 
whether  I  was  in  a  condition  to  be  reasoned 
with.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  nice  little  work- 
basket,  which  may  have  been  brought  along  to 
catch  his  prayers;  but  he  took  it  home  piled 
with  grapes. 

And  then  they  told  me,  also,  how  many  a 
good  and  kind  soul  came  with  hushed  footsteps 
and  low  inquiries,  turning  away  sometimes  with 
brightened  faces,  sometimes  with  rising  tears  — 
often  people  whom  I  had  done  no  kindness  or 
whom  I  did  not  know ;  how  others  whom  I  had 
quarrelled  with  or  did  not  like,  forgot  the  poor 
puny  quarrels  and  the  dislike,  and  begged  to  do 
for  me  whatever  they  could ;  how  friends  went 
softly  around  the  garden,  caring  for  a  flower, 
putting  a  prop  under  a  too-heavily  laden  limb, 
86 


PUTTING  A  PROP  UNDER  A  TOO-HEAVILY  LADEN  LIMB. 


or  climbing  on  step-ladders  to  tie  sacks  around 
the  finest  bunches  of  grapes,  with  the  hope  that 
I  might  be  well  in  time  to  eat  them  —  touching 
nothing  themselves,  having  no  heart  to  eat; 
how  dear,  dear  ones  would  never  leave  me  day 
or  night ;  how  a  good  doctor  wore  himself  out 
with  watching,  and  a  good  pastor  sent  up  for 
me  his  spotless  prayers;  and  at  last,  when  I 
began  to  mend,  how  from  far  and  near  there 
poured  in  flowers  and  jellies  and  wines,  until, 
had  I  been  the  multitude  by  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
there  must  have  been  baskets  to  spare.  God 
bless  them !  God  bless  them  all !  And  God 
forgive  us  all  the  blindness,  the  weakness,  and 
the  cruelty  with  which  we  judge  each  other 
when  we  are  in  health. 

This  and  more  my  beloved  old  negroes  told 
me  a  few  hours  ago,  as  I  sat  in  deep  comfort 
and  bright  health  again  before  my  blazing  hick 
ories  ;  and  one  moment  we  were  in  laughter  and 
the  next  in  tears  —  as  is  the  strange  life  we  live. 
This  is  a  gay  household  now,  and  Dilsy  cannot 
face  me  without  a  fleshy  earthquake  of  laughter 
that  I  have  become  such  a  high-tempered  tiger 
about  punctual  meals. 

In  particular,  my  two  nearest  neighbours  were 
much  at  odds  as  to  which  had  better  claim  to 
88 


THRUST  MRS.   COBB  OUT  OF  THE  HOUSE. 

89 


nurse  me ;  so  that  one  day  Mrs.  Walters,  able 
to  endure  it  no  longer,  thrust  Mrs.  Cobb  out  of 
the  house  by  the  shoulder-blades,  locked  the  door 
on  her,  and  then  opened  the  shutters  and  scolded 
her  out  of  the  window. 

One  thing  I  miss.  My  servants  have  never 
called  the  name  of  Georgiana.  The  omission  is 
unnatural,  and  must  be  intentional.  Of  course 
I  have  not  asked  whether  she  showed  any  con 
cern  ;  but  that  little  spot  of  silence  affects  me 
as  the  sight  of  a  tree  remaining  leafless  in  the 
woods  where  everything  else  is  turning  green. 


90 


J)O-DAY  I  was  standing  at 
'_    a  window,  looking  out  at 
the  aged  row  of  cedars, 
now   laden    with    snow, 
and  thinking  of  Horace 
and    Soracte.      Suddenly, 
beneath  a  jutting  pinnacle 

91 


of  white  boughs  which  left  under  themselves 
one  little  spot  of  green,  I  saw  a  cardinal  hop 
out  and  sit  full-breasted  towards  me.  The  idea 
flashed  through  my  mind  that  this  might  be 
that  shyest,  most  beautiful  fellow  whom  I  had 
found  in  September,  and  whom  I  tried  to  make 
out  as  the  son  of  my  last  winter's  pensioner. 
At  least  he  has  never  lived  in  my  yard  be 
fore  ;  for  when,  to  test  his  shyness,  I  started 
to  raise  the  window-sash,  at  the  first  noise  of 
it  he  was  gone.  My  birds  are  not  so  afraid 
of  me.  I  must  get  on  better  terms  with  this 
stranger. 

Mrs.  Walters  over  for  a  while  afterwards.     I 
told  her  of  my  fancy  that  this  bird  was  one  of 
last  summer's  brood,  and  that  he  appeared  a 
trifle   larger  than  any  male   I   had  ever  seen. 
She  said  of  course.     Had  I  not  fed  the  parents 
all  last  winter?     When  she  fed  her  hens,  did 
they  not  lay  bigger  eggs  ?     Did  not  bigger  eggs 
contain  bigger  chicks  ?     Did  not  bigger  chicks 
become  bigger  hens,  again  ?     According  to  Mrs. 
Walters,  a  single  winter's  feeding  of  hot  corn- 
meal,  scraps  of  bacon,  and  pods  of  red  pepper 
will  all  but  bring  about  a  variation  of  species; 
and  so  if  the  assumed  rate  at  which  I  am  now 
going  were  kept  up  a  hundred  years,  my  cedar- 
92 


WHEN    SHE   FED    HER   HENS. 


93 


trees  might  be  full  of  a  race  of  red-birds  as  large 
and  as  fat  as  geese. 

Standing  towards  sundown  at  another  win 
dow,  I  saw  Georgiana  sewing  at  hers,  as  I  have 
seen  her  every  day  since  I  got  out  of  bed.  Why 
should  she  sew  so  much  ?  There  is  a  servant 
also ;  and  they  sew,  sew,  sew,  as  if  eternal  sew 
ing  were  eternal  happiness,  eternal  salvation. 
The  first  day  she  sprang  up,  letting  her  work 
roll  off  her  lap,  and  waved  her  handkerchief 
inside  the  panes,  and  smiled  with  what  looked 
to  me  like  radiant  pleasure  that  I  was  well 
again.  I  was  weak  and  began  to  tremble,  and, 
going  back  to  the  fireside,  lay  back  in  my  chair 
with  a  beating  of  the  heart  that  was  a  warning. 
Since  then  she  has  recognized  me  only  by  a 
quiet,  kindly  smile.  Why  has  no  one  ever 
called  her  name  ?  I  believe  Mrs.  Walters 
knows.  She  comes  nowadays  as  if  to  tell  me 
something,  and  goes  away  with  a  struggle 
that  she  has  not  told  it.  But  a  secret  can 
no  more  stay  in  the  depths  of  Mrs.  Walters's 
mind  than  cork  at  the  bottom  of  water;  some 
day  I  shall  see  this  mystery  riding  on  the 
surface. 


94 


XII 


*ES,  she  knew ;  while 
unconscious  I 
talked  of  Georgi- 
ana,  of  being  in 
love  with  her.  Mrs. 
Walters  added, 
sadly,  that  Georgi- 
ana  came  home  in 
the  fall  engaged  to 
that  New  York 

cousin.     Hence  the  sewing — he  was  to  marry 

her  in  June. 

I  am  not  in  love  with  her.     It  is  now  four 

weeks   since   hearing  this  conventional  fiction. 

and  every  day  I  have  been  perfectly  able   to 

repeat :  "  I   am  not  in  love  with  Georgiana ! " 
95 


There  was  one  question  which  I  put  severely  to 
Mrs.  Walters :  Had  she  told  Georgiana  of  my 
foolish  talk?  She  shook  her  head  violently, 
and  pressed  her  lips  closely  together,  suggest 
ing  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  the  smallest 
monosyllable  in  the  language  to  escape  by  that 
channel;  but  she  kept  her  eyes  wide  open,  and 
the  truth  issued  from  them,  as  smoke  in  a  hol 
low  tree,  if  stopped  in  at  a  lower  hole,  simply 
rises  and  comes  out  at  a  higher  one.  "  You 
should  have  shut  your  eyes  also,"  I  said. 
"  You  have  told  her  every  word  of  it,  and  the 
Lord  only  knows  how  much  more." 

This  February  has  let  loose  its  whole  pack  of 
grizzly  sky-hounds.  Unbroken  severe  weather. 
Health  has  not  returned  as  rapidly  as  was 
promised,  and  I  have  not  ventured  outside  the 
yard.  But  it  is  a  pleasure  to  chronicle  the 
beginning  of  an  acquaintanceship  between  his 
proud  eminence  the  young  cardinal  and  myself. 
For  a  long  time  he  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  me,  fled  as  I  approached,  abandoned  the 
evergreens  altogether  and  sat  on  the  naked 
tree-tops,  as  much  as  threatening  to  quit  the 
place  altogether  if  I  did  not  leave  him  in  peace. 
Surely  he  is  the  shyest  of  his  kind,  and  to  my 
fancy,  the  most  beautiful ;  and  therefore  Na- 

96 


ture  seems  to  have  stored  him  with  extra  cau 
tion  towards  his  arch-enemy. 

But  in  the  old  human  way  I  have  taken 
advantage  of  his  necessities.  The  north  wind 
has  been  my  friend  against  him.  I  have  called 
in  the  aid  of  sleets  and  snows,  have  besieged 
him  in  his  white  castle  behind  the  glittering 
array  of  his  icicles  with  threats  of  starvation. 
So  one  day,  dropping  like  a  glowing  coal  down 
among  the  other  birds,  he  snatched  a  desperate 
hasty  meal  from  the  public  poor-house  table 
that  I  had  spread  under  the  trees. 

It  is  the  first  surrender  that  decides.  Since 
then  some  progress  has  been  made  in  winning 
his  confidence,  but  the  struggle  going  on  in  his 
nature  is  plain  enough  still.  At  times  he  will 
rush  away  from  me  in  utter  terror;  at  others 
he  lets  me  draw  a  little  nearer,  without  moving 
from  a  limb ;  and  now,  after  a  month  of  persua 
sion,  he  begins  to  discredit  the  experience  which 
he  has  inherited  from  centuries  upon  centuries 
of  ancestors.  In  all  that  I  have  done  I  have 
tried  to  say  to  him :  "  Don't  judge  me  by  man 
kind  in  general.  With  me  you  are  safe.  I 
pledge  myself  to  defend  you  from  enemies, 
high  and  low." 

This  has  not  escaped  the  notice  of  Georgi- 
H  97 


ana  at  the  window,  and  more  than  once  she  has 
let  her  work  drop  to  watch  my  patient  progress 
and  to  bestow  upon  me  a  rewarding  smile.  Is 
there  nearly  always  sadness  in  it,  or  is  the 
sadness  in  my  eyes  ?  If  Georgiana's  brother  is 
giving  her  trouble,  I'd  like  to  take  a  hand-axe 
to  his  feet.  I  suppose  I  shall  never  know 
whether  he  cut  her  foot  in  two.  She  carries 
the  left  one  a  little  peculiarly ;  but  so  many 
women  do  that. 

Sometimes,  when  the  day's  work  is  over  and 
the  servant  is  gone,  Georgiana  comes  to  the 
window  and  looks  away  towards  the  sunsets 
of  winter,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back, 
her  motionless  figure  in  relief  against  the  dark 
ness  within,  her  face  white  and  still.  Being  in 
the  shadow  of  my  own  room,  so  that  she  could 
not  see  me,  and  knowing  that  I  ought  not  to  do 
it,  but  unable  to  resist,  I  have  softly  taken  up 
the  spy-glass  which  I  use  in  the  study  of  birds, 
and  have  drawn  Georgiana's  face  nearer  to  me, 
holding  it  there  till  she  turns  away.  I  have 
noted  the  traces  of  pain,  and  once  the  tears 
which  she  could  not  keep  back  and  was  too 
proud  to  shed.  Then  I  have  sat  before  my 
flickering  embers,  with  I  know  not  what  all 
but  ungovernable  yearning  to  be  over  there  in 


the  shadowy  room  with  her,  and,  whether  she 
would  or  not,  to  fold  my  arms  around  her,  and, 
drawing  her  face  against  mine,  whisper  :  "  What 
is  it,  Georgiana  ?  And  why  must  it  be  ? " 


99 


XIII 


HE  fountains  of 
the  great  deep 
opened.  A  new 
heaven,  a  new 
earth.  Georgi- 
ana  has  broken 
her  engagement 
with  her  cousin. 
Mrs.  Cobb  let  it 


100 


out  in  the  strictest  confidence  to  Mrs.  Walters. 
Mrs.  Walters,  with  stricter  confidence  still,  has 
told  me  only. 

The  West-Pointer  had  been  writing  for  some 
months  in  regard  to  the  wild  behaviour  of  his 
cousin.  This  grew  worse,  and  the  crisis  came. 
Georgiana  snapped  her  thread  and  put  up  her 
needle.  He  travelled  all  the  way  down  here  to 
implore.  I  met  him  at  the  gate  as  he  left  the 
house — a  fine,  straight,  manly,  handsome  young 
fellow,  his  face  pale  with  pain,  and  his  eyes 
flashing  with  anger  —  and  bade  him  a  long,  affec 
tionate,  inward  God-speed  as  he  hurried  away. 
It  was  her  father's  influence.  He  had  always 
wished  for  this  union.  Ah,  the  evils  that  come 
to  the  living  from  the  wrongful  wishes  of  the 
dead  !  Georgiana  is  so  happy  now,  since  she 
has  been  forced  to  free  herself,  that  spring  in 
this  part  of  the  United  States  seems  to  have 
advanced  about  half  a  month. 

"  What  on  earth  will  she  do  with  all  those 
clothes  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Walters  the  other 
night,  eyeing  me  with  curious  impressiveness. 

"  Let  them  be  hanged,"  I  said,  promptly. 

There  is  a  young  scapegrace  who  passes  my 
house  morning  and  evening  with  his  cows.     He 
has  the  predatory  instincts  of  that  being  who 
101 


loves  to  call  himself  the  image  of  his  Maker, 
and  more  than  once  has  given  annoyance,  espe 
cially  last  year,  when  he  robbed  a  damson-tree 
of  a  brood  of  Baltimore  orioles.  This  winter 
and  spring  his  friendly  interest  in  my  birds  has 
increased,  and  several  times  I  have  caught  him 
skulking  among  the  pines.  Last  night  what 
should  I  stumble  on  but  a  trap,  baited  and 
sprung,  under  the  cedar-tree  in  which  the  car 
dinal  roosts.  I  was  up  before  daybreak  this 
morning.  Awhile  after  the  waking  of  the  birds 
here  comes  my  young  bird-thief,  creeping  rap 
idly  to  his  trap.  As  he  stooped  I  had  him  by 
the  collar,  and  within  the  next  five  minutes  I 
must  have  set  up  in  his  nervous  system  a  nega 
tive  disposition  to  the  caging  of  red-birds  that 
will  descend  as  a  positive  tendency  to  all  the 
generations  of  his  offspring. 

All  day  this  meditated  outrage  has  kept  my 
blood  up.  Think  of  this  beautiful  cardinal  beat 
ing  his  heart  out  against  maddening  bars,  or 
caged  for  life  in  some  dark  city  street,  lonely, 
sick,  and  silent,  bidden  to  sing  joyously  of  that 
high  world  of  light  and  liberty  where  once  he 
sported  !  Think  of  the  exquisite  refinement  of 
cruelty  in  wishing  to  take  him  on  the  eve  of 
May! 

1 02 


''•"•l.        ' 

THAT  WHIPPING. 


103 


It  is  hardly  a  fancy  that  something  as  loyal  as 
friendship  has  sprung  up  between  this  bird  and 
me.  I  accept  his  original  shyness  as  a  mark  of 
his  finer  instincts  ;  but,  like  the  nobler  natures, 
when  once  he  found  it  possible  to  give  his  confi 
dence,  how  frankly  and  fearlessly  has  it  been 
given.  The  other  day,  brilliant,  warm,  windless, 
I  was  tramping  across  the  fields  a  mile  from 
home,  when  I  heard  him  on  the  summit  of  a  dead 
sycamore,  cleaving  the  air  with  stroke  after  stroke 
of  his  long  melodious  whistle,  as  with  the  swing 
of  a  silken  lash.  When  I  drew  near  he  dropped 
down  from  bough  to  bough  till  he  reached  the 
lowest,  a  few  feet  from  where  I  stood,  and 
showed  by  every  movement  how  glad  he  was 
to  see  me.  We  really  have  reached  the  under 
standing  that  the  immemorial  persecution  of  his 
race  by  mine  is  ended  ;  and  now  more  than  ever 
my  fondness  settles  about  him,  since  I  have 
found  his  happiness  plotted  against,  and  have 
perhaps  saved  his  very  life.  It  would  be  easy 
to  trap  him.  His  eye  should  be  made  to  distrust 
every  well-arranged  pile  of  sticks  under  which 
lurks  a  morsel. 

To-night  I  called  upon  Georgiana  and  sketched 
the    arrested    tragedy   of    the    morning.     She 
watched  me  curiously,  and  then  dashed  into  a 
104 


little  treatise  on  the  celebrated  friendships  of  man 
for  the  lower  creatures,  in  fact  and  fiction,  from 
camels  down  to  white  mice.     Her  father  must 
have  been  a  remarkably  learned  man.     I  didn't 
like  this.     It  made  me  somehow  feel  as  though 
I  were  one  of   ^sop's  Fables,  or  were   being 
translated  into  English  as  that  old  school-room 
horror  of  Androclus  and  the  Lion.     In  the  bot 
tom  of  my  soul  I  don't  believe  that  Georgiana 
cares  for  birds,  or  knows  the  difference  between 
a  blackbird  and  a  crow.     I  am  going  to  send  her 
a  little   story,   "  The    Passion   of   the    Desert." 
Mrs.  Walters  is  now  confident  that  Georgiana 
regrets  having  broken  off  her  engagement.     But 
then  Mrs.  Walters  can  be  a  great  fool  when  she 
puts  her  whole  mind  to  it. 


105 


XIV 

N  APRIL  I  commence  to 
scratch  and  dig  in  my  gar 
den. 

To-day  as  I  was  raking  off 
my  strawberry  bed,  Georgi- 
ana,  whom  I  have  not  seen 
since  the  night  when  she  satirized 
me,  called  from  the  window : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  plant 
this  year  ? " 

"Oh,  a  little  of  everything,"  I  answered, 
under  my  hat.  "  What  are  you  going  to  plant 
this  year  ? " 

"Are  you  going  to  have  many  strawber 
ries  ? " 

"  It's  too  soon  to  tell :  they  haven't  bloomed 
106 


yet.  It's  too  soon  to  tell  when  they  do  bloom. 
Sometimes  strawberries  are  like  women  :  Whole 
beds  full  of  showy  blossoms;  but  when  the 
time  comes  to  be  ripe  and  luscious,  you  can't 
find  them." 
"  Indeed." 

"  Tis  true,  'tis  pity." 

"  I  had  always  supposed  that  to  a  Southern 
gentleman  woman  was  not  a  berry,  but  a  rose. 
What  does  he  hunt  for  in  woman  as  much  as 
bloom  and  fragrance  ?  But  I  do  not  belong  to 
the  rose-order  of  Southern  women  myself.  Syl 
via  does.  Why  did  you  send  me  that  story  ?  " 
"Didn't  you  like  it?" 

"No.  A  woman  couldn't  care  for  a  story 
about  a  man  and  a  tigress.  Either  she  would 
feel  that  she  was  too  much  left  out,  or  suspect 
that  she  was  too  much  put  in.  The  same  sort 
of  story  about  a  lion  and  a  woman  —  that  would 
be  better." 

I  raked  in  silence  for  a  minute,  and  when  I 
looked  up  Georgiana  was  gone.  I  remember 
her  saying  once  that  children  should  be  kept 
tart ;  but  now  and  then  I  fancy  that  she  would 
like  to  keep  even  a  middle-aged  man  in  brine. 
Who  knows  but  that  in  the  end  I  shall  sell  my 
place  to  the  Cobbs  and  move  away. 
107 


Five  more  days  of  April,  and  then  May!     For 
the  last   half   of   this  light-and-shadow  month, 
when   the   clouds,  like   schools   of   changeable 
lovely  creatures,  seem  to  be  playing  and  rush 
ing  away  through  the  waters  of  the  sun,  life  to 
me  has  narrowed  more  and  more  to  the  red-bird, 
who  gets  tamer  and  tamer  with  habit,  and  to 
Georgiana,   who   gets    wilder   and   wilder   with 
happiness.     The  bird  fills  the  yard  with  brilliant 
singing ;  she  fills  her  room  with  her  low,  clear 
songs,  hidden  behind  the  window-curtains,  which 
are   now  so    much    oftener   and    so   needlessly 
closed.     I  work  myself  nearly  to  death  in  my 
garden,  but  she  does  not  open  them.     The  other 
day  the  red-bird  sat  in  a  tree  near  by,  and  his 
notes  floated  out  on  the  air  like  scarlet  streamers. 
Georgiana  was  singing,  so  low  that  I  was  mak 
ing  no  noise  with  my  rake  in  order  to  hear ;  and 
when  he  began,  before  I  realized  what  I  was 
doing,  I  had  seized  a  brickbat  and   hurled  it, 
barely  missing  him,  and  driving  him  away.     He 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it ;  neither  did  I ; 
but  as  I  raised  my  eyes  I  saw  that  Georgiana 
had  opened  the  curtains  to  listen  to  him,  and 
was  closing  them  with  her  eyes  on  my  face, 
and  a  look  on  hers  that  has  haunted  me  ever 
since. 

108 


April  the  26th.  It's  of  no  use.  To-morrow 
night  I  will  go  to  see  Georgiana,  and  ask  her  to 
marry  me. 

April  28th.  Man  that  is  born  of  woman  is  of 
few  days  and  full  of  trouble.  I  am  not  the  least 
sick,  but  I  am  not  feeling  at  all  well.  So  have 
made  a  will,  and  left  everything  to  Mrs.  Walters. 
She  has  been  over  five  times  to-day,  and  this 
evening  sat  by  me  a  long  time,  holding  my  hand 
and  smoothing  my  forehead,  and  urging  me  to 
try  a  cream  poultice  —  a  mustard-plaster  —  a 
bowl  of  gruel  —  a  broiled  chicken. 

I  believe  Georgiana  thinks  I'll  ask  her  again. 
Not  if  I  lived  by  her  through  eternity !  Thy 
rod  and  Thy  staff  —  they  comfort  me. 


109 


POOR  devil  will  ask 
a  woman  to  marry 
him.  She  will  refuse 
him.  The  day  after 
she  will  meet  him  as 
serenely  as  if  he  had 
asked  her  for  a  pin. 

It     is     now     May 
1 5th,  and  I  have  not 


no 


spoken  to  Georgiana  when  I've  had  a  chance. 
She  has  been  entirely  too  happy,  to  judge  from 
her  singing,  for  me  to  get  along  with  under 
the  circumstances.  But  this  morning,  as  I  was 
planting  a  hedge  inside  my  fence  under  her 
window,  she  leaned  over  and  said,  as  though 
nothing  were  wrong  between  us,  "  What  are  you 
planting  ? " 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Georgiana  can 
ask  more  questions  than  Socrates. 

"  A  hedge." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"To  grow." 

"  What  do  you  want  it  to  grow  for  ? " 

"  My  garden  is  too  public.  I  wish  to  be  pro 
tected  from  outsiders." 

"Would  it  be  the  same  thing  if  I  were  to 
nail  up  this  window  ?  That  would  be  so  much 
quicker.  It  will  be  ten  years  before  your  hedge 
is  high  enough  to  keep  me  from  seeing  you. 
And  even  then,  you  know,  I  could  move  up 
stairs.  But  I  am  so  sorry  to  be  an  outsider." 

"I  merely  remarked  that  I  was  planting  a 
hedge." 

When  Georgiana  spoke  again  her  voice  was 
lowered :  "  Would  you  open  a  gateway  for  me 
into  your  garden,  to  be  always  mine,  so  that  I 
in 


might  go  out  and  come  in,  and  never  another 
human  soul  enter  it  ?  " 

Now  Jacob  had  often  begged  me  to  cut  him 
a  private  gateway  on  that  side  of  the  garden,  so 
that  only  he  might  come  in  and  go  out ;  and  I 
had  refused,  since  I  did  not  wish  him  to  get  to 
me  so  easily  with  his  complaints.  Besides,  a 
gate  once  opened,  who  may  not  use  it  ?  and  I 
was  indignant  that  Georgiana  should  lightly 
ask  anything  at  my  hands;  therefore  I  looked 
quickly  and  sternly  up  at  her  and  said,  "  I  will 
not." 

Afterwards  the  thought  rushed  over  me  that 
she  had  not  spoken  of  any  gateway  through 
my  garden  fence,  but  of  another  one,  mystical, 
hidden,  infinitely  more  sacred.  For  her  voice 
descended  almost  in  a  whisper,  and  her  face,  as 
she  bent  down  towards  me,  had  on  it  I  know 
not  what  angelic  expression.  She  seemed  float 
ing  to  me  from  heaven. 

May  17.  To-day  I  put  a  little  private  gate 
through  my  fence  under  Georgiana's  window, 
as  a  sign  to  her.  Balaam's  beast  that  I  am  ! 
Yes,  seven  times  more  than  the  inspired  ass. 

As  I  passed  to-day,  I  noticed  Georgiana  look 
ing  down  at  the  gate  that  I  made  yesterday.  She 

112 


LOOKING   DOWN   AT   THE   GATE   THAT   I   MADE   YESTERDAY^ 


held  a  flower  to  her  nose  and  eyes,  but  behind 
the  leaves  I  detected  that  she  was  laughing. 

"  Good-morning  !  "  she  called  to  me.  "What 
did  you  cut  that  ugly  hole  in  your  fence  for  ? " 

"That's  not  an  ugly  hole.  That's  a  little 
private  gateway." 

"But  what's  the  little  private  gateway  for?" 

"  Oh,  well !  You  don't  understand  these  mat 
ters.  I'll  tell  your  mother." 

"  My  mother  is  too  old.  She  no  longer  stoops 
to  such  things.  Tell  me  !  " 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  I'm  dying  to  know." 

"  What  will  you  give  me  ? " 

"  Anything  —  this  flower  !  " 

"  But  what  would  the  flower  stand  for  in  that 
case?  A  little  pri  —  " 

"  Nothing.  Take  it !  "  and  she  dropped  it 
lightly  on  my  face  and  disappeared.  As  I  stood 
twirling  it  ecstatically  under  my  nose,  and  won 
dering  how  I  could  get  her  to  come  back  to  the 
window,  the  edge  of  a  curtain  was  lifted,  and 
a  white  hand  stole  out  and  softly  closed  the 
shutters. 

In  the  evening  Sylvia  went  in  to  a  concert  of 
the  school,  which  was  to  be  held  at  the  Court 
house,  a  chorus  of  girls  being  impanelled  in  the 
114 


jury-box,  and  the  principal,  who  wears  a  little 
wig,  taking  her  seat  on  the  woolsack.  I  prom 
ised  to  have  the  very  pick  of  the  garden  ready, 
and  told  Sylvia  to  come  to  the  arbour  the  last 
thing  before  starting.  She  wore  big  blue  ro 
settes  in  her  hair,  and  at  that  twilight  hour  looked 
as  lovely,  soft,  and  pure  as  moonshine ;  so  that 
I  lost  control  of  myself  and  kissed  her  twice  — 
once  for  Georgiana  and  once  for  myself.  Surely 
it  must  have  been  Sylvia's  first  experience.  I 
hope  so.  Yet  she  passed  through  it  with  the 
composure  of  a  graduate  of  several  years'  stand 
ing.  But,  then,  women  inherit  a  great  stock  of 
fortitude  from  their  mothers  in  this  regard,  and 
perpetually  add  to  it  by  their  own  dispositions. 
Ought  I  to  warn  Georgiana  —  good  heavens  !  in 
a  general  way,  of  course  —  that  Sylvia  should  be 
kept  away  from  sugar,  and  well  under  the  influ 
ence  of  vulgar  fractions  ? 

It  made  me  feel  uncomfortable  to  see  her  go 
tripping  out  of  her  front  gate  on  the  arm  of  a 
youth.  Can  it  be  possible  that  he  would  try  to 
do  what  /  did  ?  Men  differ  so  in  their  virtues, 
and  are  so  alike  in  their  transgressions.  This 
forward  gosling  displayed  white  duck  pantaloons, 
brandished  pumps  on  his  feet,  which  looked  flat 
enough  to  have  been  webbed,  and  was  scented 


as  to  his  marital  locks  with  a  far-reaching  pesti 
lence  of  bergamot  and  cinnamon. 

After  they  were  gone  I  strolled  back  to  my 
arbour  and  sat  down  amid  the  ruins  of  Sylvia's 
flowers.  The  night  was  mystically  beautiful. 
The  moon  seemed  to  me  to  be  softly  stealing 
down  the  sky  to  kiss  Endymion.  I  looked 
across  towards  Georgiana's  window.  She  was 
there,  and  I  slipped  over  and  stood  under  it. 

"Georgiana,"  I  whispered,  "were  you,  too, 
looking  at  the  moon  ?  " 

"Part  of  the  time,"  she  said,  sourly.  "Isn't 
it  permitted  ? " 

"  Sylvia  left  her  scissors  in  the  arbour,  and  I 
can't  find  them." 

"  She'll  find  them  to-morrow." 

"  If  they  get  wet,  you  know,  they'll  rust." 

"I  keep  something  to  take  rust  off." 

"Georgiana,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you 
about  Sylvia." 

"  What  ?     That  you  kissed  her  ?  " 

"  N  —  o  !     Not  that,  exactly  !  " 

"  Good-night ! " 

May  2 1 st.     Again  I  asked  Georgiana  to  be 
mine.     I  am  a  perfect  fool  about  her.     But  she's 
coming  my  way  at  last  — God  bless  her! 
116 


May  24th.     I  renewed  my  suit  to  Georgiana. 
May  2/th.     I  besought  Georgiana  to  hear  me, 

May  28th.  For  the  last  time  I  offered  my 
hand  in  marriage  to  the  elder  Miss  Cobb.  Now 
I  am  done  with  her  forever.  I  am  no  fool. 

May  2Qth.     Oh,  damn  Mrs.  Walters. 


XVI 

HIS  morning,  the  3d  of 
June,  I  went  out  to  pick 
the  first  dish  of  straw 
berries  for  my  break 
fast.  As  I  was  stooping 
down  I  heard  a  timid, 
playful  voice  at  the 
window  like  the  echo 
of  a  year  ago :  "  Are 
you  the  gardener?" 

Since  Georgiana  will   not  marry  me,  if   she 
would  only  let  me  alone ! 

"  Old  man,  are  you  the  gardener  ?  " 
118 


"  Yes,  I'm  the  gardener.  I  know  what  you 
are." 

"How  much  do  you  ask  for  your  straw 
berries  ? " 

"  They  come  high.  Nothing  of  mine  is  to  be 
as  cheap  hereafter  as  it  has  been." 

"  I  am  so  glad  —  for  your  sake.  I  should 
like  to  possess  something  of  yours,  but  I  suppose 
everything  is  too  high  now." 

"Entirely  too  high!" 

"  If  I  only  could  have  foreseen  that  there 
would  be  an  increase  of  value !  As  for  me,  I 
have  felt  that  I  am  getting  cheaper  lately.  I 
may  have  to  give  myself  away  soon.  If  I  only 
knew  of  some  one  who  loved  the  lower  ani 
mals." 

"  The  fox,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  do  you  know  of  any  one  who  would 
accept  the  present  of  a  fox  ?  " 

"  Ahem !  I  wouldn't  mind  having  a  tame  fox. 
I  don't  care  much  for  wild  foxes." 

"  Oh,  this  one  would  get  tame  —  in  time.'* 

"  I  don't  believe  I  know  of  any  one  just  at 
present." 

"  Very  well.  Sylvia  will  get  the  highest  mark 
in  arithmetic.  And  Joe  is  distinguishing  him 
self  at  West  Point.  That's  what  I  wanted  to 
119 


tell  you.  I'll  send  over  the  cream  and  sugar, 
and  hope  you  will  enjoy  all  your  berries. 
We  shall  buy  some  in  the  market-house  next 
week." 

Later  in  the  forenoon  I  sent  the  strawberries 
over  to  Georgiana.  I  have  a  variety  that  is 
the  shape  of  the  human  heart,  and  when  ripe 
it  matches  in  colour  that  brighter  current  of  the 
heart  through  which  runs  the  hidden  history  of 
our  passions.  All  over  the  top  of  the  dish  I 
carefully  laid  these  heart-shaped  berries,  and 
under  the  biggest  one,  at  the  very  top,  I  slipped 
this  little  note :  "  Look  at  the  shape  of  them, 
Georgiana !  I  send  them  all  to  you.  They  are 
perishable." 

This  afternoon  Georgiana  sent  back  the 
empty  dish,  and  inside  the  napkin  was  this 
note  :  "  They  are  exactly  the  shape  and  colour 
of  my  emery  needle-bag.  I  have  been  polish 
ing  my  needles  in  it  for  many  years." 

Later,  as  I  was  walking  to  town,  I  met 
Georgiana  and  her  mother  coming  out.  No 
explanation  had  ever  been  made  to  the  mother 
of  that  goose  of  a  gate  in  our  division  fence; 
and  as  Georgiana  had  declined  to  accept  the 
sign,  I  determined  to  show  her  that  the  gate 
could  now  stand  for  something  else.  So  I  said : 
1 20 


GSORGIANA  AND   HER  MOTHER  COMING  OUT. 
121 


"Mrs.  Cobb,  when  you  send  your  servants 
over  for  green  corn,  you  can  let  them  come 
through  that  little  gate.  It  will  be  more  con 
venient." 

Only,  I  was  so  angry  and  confused  that  I 
called  her  Mrs.  Corn,  and  said  that  when  sh<j 
sent  her  little  Cobbs  over  .  .  .  etc.,  etc. 

After  Georgiana's  last  treatment  of  me  I 
resolved  not  to  let  her  talk  to  me  out  of  her 
window.  So  about  nine  o'clock  this  morning 
I  took  a  negro  boy  and  set  him  to  picking  the 
berries,  while  I  stood  by,  directing  him  in  a 
deep,  manly  voice  as  to  the  best  way  of  man 
aging  that  intricate  business.  Presently  I  heard 
Georgiana  begin  to  sing  to  herself  behind  the 
curtains. 

"  Hurry  up  and  fill  that  cup,"  I  said  to  him, 
savagely.  "And  that  will  do  this  morning. 
You  can  go  to  the  mill.  The  meal's  nearly 
out." 

When  he  was  gone  I  called,  in  an  undertone  : 
"  Georgiana  !  Come  to  the  window !  Please ! 
Oh,  Georgiana ! " 

But  the  song  went  on.    What  was  the  matter? 
I  could  not  endure  it.     There  was  one  way  by 
which  perhaps  she  could  be  brought.     I  whis- 
122 


tied  long  and  loud  again  and  again.     The  cur 
tains  parted  a  little  space. 

"  I  was  merely  whistling  to  the  bird,"  I  said. 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  answered,  looking  as  I  had 
never  seen  her.  "Whenever  you  speak  to  him 
your  voice  is  full  of  confidence  and  of  love.  I 
believe  in  it  and  like  to  hear  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Georgiana  ? "  I  cried, 
imploringly. 

"  Ah,  Adam ! "  she  said,  with  a  rush  of  feel 
ing.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called 
me  by  name.  She  bent  her  face  down.  Over 
it  there  passed  a  look  of  sweetness  and  sadness 
indescribably  blended.  "  Ah,  Adam  !  you  have 
asked  me  many  times  to  marry  you !  Make  me 
believe  once  that  you  love  me  !  Make  me  feel 
that  I  could  trust  myself  to  you  for  life !  " 

"What  else  can  I  do?"  I  answered,  stirred 
to  the  deepest  that  was  in  me,  throwing  my 
arms  backward,  and  standing  with  an  open 
breast  into  which  she  might  gaze. 

And  she  did  search  my  eyes  and  face  in 
silence. 

"What  more?"  I  cried  again,  "in  God's 
name  ? " 

She   rested   her  face   on  her  palm,   looking 
thoughtfully  across  the  yard.     Over  there  the 
123 


red-bird  was  singing.  Suddenly  she  leaned 
down  towards  me.  Love  was  on  her  face 
now.  But  her  eyes  held  mine  with  determi 
nation  to  wrest  from  them  the  last  truth  they 
might  contain,  and  her  voice  trembled  with 
doubt : 

"Would  you  put  the  red-bird  in  a  cage  for 
me  ?  Would  you  be  willing  to  do  that  for  me, 
Adam?" 

At  those  whimsical,  cruel  words  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  reveal  all  that  I  felt  — the  surprise, 
the  sorrow,  the  pain.  Scenes  of  boyhood  flashed 
through  my  memory.  A  conscience  built  up 
through  years  of  experience  stood  close  by  me 
with  admonition.  I  saw  the  love  on  her  face, 
the  hope  with  which  she  hung  upon  my  reply, 
as  though  it  would  decide  everything  between 
us.  I  did  not  hesitate ;  my  hands  dropped  to 
my  side,  the  warmth  died  out  of  my  heart  as 
out  of  spent  ashes,  and  I  answered  her,  with 
cold  reproach : 

«I —will  _not!" 

The  colour  died  out  of  her  face  also.  Her 
eyes  still  rested  on  mine,  but  now  with  pitying 
sadness. 

"  I  feared  it,"  she  murmured,  audibly,  but  to 
herself,  and  the  curtains  fell  together. 
124 


Four  days  have  passed.  Georgiana  has  cast 
me  off.  Her  curtains  are  closed  except  when 
she  is  not  there.  I  have  tried  to  see  her ;  she 
excuses  herself.  I  have  written ;  my  letters 
come  back  unread.  I  have  lain  in  wait  for  her 
on  the  streets ;  she  will  not  talk  with  me.  The 
tie  between  us  has  been  severed.  With  her  it 
could  never  have  been  affection. 

And  for  what  ?  I  ask  myself  over  and  over 
and  over  and  over  —  for  what  ?  Was  she  jeal 
ous  of  the  bird,  and  did  she  require  that  I 
should  put  it  out  of  the  way?  Sometimes 
women  do  that.  Did  she  take  that  means  of 
forcing  me  to  a  test?  Women  do  that.  Did 
she  wish  to  show  her  power  over  me,  demanding 
the  one  thing  she  knew  would  be  the  hardest  for 
me  to  grant  ?  Women  do  that.  Did  she  crave 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  me  do  wrong  to  humour 
her  caprice  ?  Women  do  that.  But  not  one 
of  these  things  can  I  even  associate  with  the 
thought  of  Georgiana.  I  have  sought  in  every 
way  to  have  her  explain,  to  explain  myself. 
She  will  neither  give  nor  receive  an  explanation. 

I   had  supposed  that  her  unnatural  request 

would  have  been  the  end  of  my  love,  but  it  has 

not;  that  her  treatment  since  would  have  fatally 

stung  my  pride,  but  it  has  not.     I  understand 

125 


neither ;  forgive  both ;  love  her  now  with  that 
added  pain  which  comes  from  a  man's  discover 
ing  that  the  woman  dearest  to  him  must  be  par 
doned  —  pardoned  as  long  as  he  shall  live. 

Never  since  have  I  been  able  to  look  at  the 
red-bird  with  the  old  gladness.  He  is  the  re 
minder  of  my  loss.  Reminder?  Do  I  ever  for 
get?  Am  I  not  thinking  of  that  before  his  notes 
lash  my  memory  at  dawn  ?  All  day  can  they 
do  more  than  furrow  deeper  the  channel  of  un- 
f  orgetf ulness  ?  Little  does  he  dream  what  my 
friendship  for  him  has  cost  me.  But  this  solace 
I  have  at  heart  —  that  I  was  not  even  tempted 
to  betray  him. 

Three  days  more  have  passed.  No  sign  yet 
that  Georgiana  will  relent  soon  or  ever.  Each 
day  the  strain  becomes  harder  to  bear.  My 
mind  has  dwelt  upon  my  last  meeting  with  her, 
until  the  truth  about  it  wavers  upon  my  memory 
like  vague,  uncertain  shadows.  She  doubted 
my  love  for  her.  What  proof  was  it  she  de 
manded  ?  I  must  stop  looking  at  the  red-bird, 
lying  here  and  there  under  the  trees,  and  listen 
ing  to  him  as  he  sings  above  me.  My  eyes 
devour  him  whenever  he  crosses  my  path  with 
an  uncomprehended  fascination  that  is  pain. 
126 


How  gentle  he  has  become,  and  how,  without 
intending  it,  I  have  deepened  the  perils  of  his 
life  by  the  very  gentleness  that  I  have  brought 
upon  him.  Twice  already  the  fate  of  his  species 
has  struck  at  him,  but  I  have  pledged  myself  to 
be  his  friend.  This  is  his  happiest  season ;  a 
few  days  now,  and  he  will  hear  the  call  of  his 
young  in  the  nest. 

I  shut  myself  in  my  workshop  in  the  yard 
this  morning.  I  did  not  wish  my  servants  to 
know.  In  there  I  made  a  bird-trap  such  as  I 
had  often  used  when  a  boy.  And  late  this  after 
noon  I  went  to  town  and  bought  a  bird-cage.  I 
was  afraid  the  merchant  would  misjudge  me, 
and  explained.  He  scanned  my  face  silently. 
To-morrow  I  will  snare  the  red-bird  down  behind 
the  pines  long  enough  to  impress  on  his  mem 
ory  a  life-long  suspicion  of  every  such  artifice, 
and  then  I  will  set  him  free  again  in  his  wide 
world  of  light.  Above  all  things,  I  must  see  to 
it  that  he  does  not  wound  himself  or  have  the 
least  feather  broken. 

It  is  far  past  midnight  now,  and  I  have  not 
slept  or  wished  for  slumber. 

Constantly  since  darkness  came  on  I  have 
been  watching  Georgiana's  window  for  the  light 
127 


of  her  candle,  but  there  has  been  no  kindly 
glimmer  yet.  The  only  radiance  shed  upon  the 
gloom  outside  comes  from  the  heavens.  Great 
cage-shaped  white  clouds  are  swung  up  to  the 
firmament,  and  within  these  pale,  gentle,  im 
prisoned  lightnings  flutter  feebly  to  escape, 
fall  back,  rise,  and  try  again  and  again,  and 
fail. 

...  A  little  after  dark  this  evening  I  carried 
the  red-bird  over  to  Georgiana.  .  .  . 

I  have  seen  her  so  little  of  late  that  I  did  not 
know  she  had  been  away  from  home  for  days. 
But  she  was  expected  to-night,  or,  at  furthest, 
to-morrow  morning.  I  left  the  bird  with  the  ser 
vant  at  the  door,  who  could  hardly  believe  what 
he  saw.  As  I  passed  out  of  my  front  gate  on  my 
way  there,  the  boy  who  returns  about  that  time 
from  the  pasture  for  his  cows  joined  me  as  I 
hurried  along,  attracted  by  the  fluttering  of  the 
bird  in  the  cage. 

"  Is  it  the  red-bird  ?  /  tried  to  catch  him 
once,"  he  said,  with  entire  forgiveness  of  me,  as 
having  served  him  right,  "but  I  caught  some 
thing  else.  I'll  never  forget  that  whipping. 
Oh,  but  wouldn't  I  like  to  have  him !  Mr.  Moss, 
you  wouldn't  mind  my  trying  to  catch  one  of 
those  little  bits  o'  brown  fellows,  would  you,  that 
128 


BUT  WOULDN'T  i  LIKE  TO  HAVE  HIM  ! " 


129 


hop  around  under  the  pine-trees  ?  They  aren't 
any  account  to  anybody.  Oh  my  !  but  wouldn't 
I  like  to  have  him  !  May  I  bring  my  trap  some 
time,  and  will  you  help  me  to  catch  one  o'  those 
little  bits  o'  brown  ones?  You  can't  beat  me 
catching  them ! " 

Several  times  to-night  I  have  gone  across  and 
listened  under  Georgiana's  window.  The  ser 
vant  must  have  set  the  cage  in  her  room,  for, 
as  I  listened,  I  am  sure  I  heard  the  red-bird 
beating  his  head  and  breast  against  the  wires. 
A  while  ago  I  went  again,  and  did  not  hear 
him.  I  waited  a  long  time.  ...  He  may  be 
quieted.  .  .  . 

Ah,  if  any  one  had  said  to  me  that  I  would 
ever  do  what  I  have  done,  with  what  full,  deep 
joy  could  I  have  throttled  the  lie  in  his  throat ! 
I  put  the  trap  under  one  of  the  trees  where  I 
have  been  used  to  feed  him.  When  it  fell  he 
was  not  greatly  frightened.  He  clutched  the 
side  of  it,  and  looked  out  at  me.  My  own  mind 
supplied  his  words  :  "  Help  !  I'm  caught !  Take 
me  out !  You  promised  !  "  When  I  transferred 
him  to  the  cage,  for  a  moment  his  confidence 
lasted  still.  He  mounted  the  perch,  shook  his 
plumage,  and  spoke  out  bravely  and  cheerily. 
Then  all  at  once  came  on  the  terror. 
130 


The  dawn  came  on  this  morning  with  its  old 
splendour.  The  birds  in  my  yard,  as  of  old, 
poured  forth  their  songs.  But  those  loud,  long, 
clear,  melodious,  deep-hearted,  passionate,  best- 
loved  notes !  As  the  chorus  swelled  from  shad 
owy  shrubs  and  vines  to  the  sparkling  tree-tops 
I  listened  for  some  sound  from  Georgiana's  room, 
but  over  there  I  saw  onl^he  soft,  slow  flapping 
of  the  white  curtains  like  signals  of  distress. 

Towards  ten  o'clock,  wandering  restless,  I 
snatched  up  a  book  which  I  had  no  wish  to  read, 
and  went  to  the  arbour  where  I  had  so  often 
discoursed  to  Sylvia  about  children's  cruelty  to 
birds.  Through  the  fluttering  leaves  the  sun 
light  dripped  as  a  weightless  shower  of  gold, 
and  the  long  pendants  of  young  fruit  swayed 
gently  in  their  cool  waxen  greenness.  Where 
some  rotting  planks  crossed  the  top  of  the 
arbour  a  blue-jay  sat  on  her  coarse  nest;  and 
presently  the  mate  flew  to  her  with  a  worm,  and 
then  talked  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  as  much  as 
saying  that  they  must  now  leave  the  place  for 
ever.  I  was  thinking  how  love  softens  even  the 
voice  of  this  file-throated  screamer,  when  along 
the  garden  walk  came  the  rustle  of  a  woman's 
clothes,  and,  springing  up,  I  stood  face  to  face 
with  Georgiana. 


41  WHAT   HAVE  YOU   DONE  ?  "    SHE   CRIED. 


132 


"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  implored. 

"What  have  you  done?"  I  answered  as 
quickly. 

"Oh,  Adam,  Adam!  You  have  killed  it! 
How  could  you  ?  How  could  you  ?  " 

"...  Is  he  dead,  Georgiana  ?   Is  he  dead  ? . . .  " 

I  forgot  everything  else,  and  pulling  my  hat 
down  over  my  eyes,  turned  from  her  in  the 
helpless  shock  of  silence  that  came  with  those 
irreparable  words. 

Then,  in  ungovernable  anger,  suffering,  re 
morse,  I  turned  upon  her  where  she  sat :  "  It  is 
you  who  killed  him !  Why  do  you  come  here  to 
blame  me  ?  And  now  you  pretend  to  be  sorry. 
You  felt  no  pity  when  pity  would  have  done 
some  good.  Trifler  !  Hypocrite  !  " 

"  It  is  false !  "  she  cried,  her  words  flashing 
from  her  whole  countenance,  her  form  drawn  up 
to  repel  the  shock  of  the  blow. 

"  Did  you  not  ask  for  him  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  Oh,  deny  it  all !  It  is  a  falsehood  —  in 
vented  by  me  on  the  spot.  You  know  nothing 
of  it !  You  did  not  ask  me  to  do  this !  And 
when  I  have  yielded,  you  have  not  run  to  re 
proach  me  here  and  to  cry,  '  How  could  you  ? 
How  could  you  ? ' ' 

133 


"  No  !     No  !     Every  word  of  it  —  " 

"  Untruth  added  to  it  all !  Oh,  that  I  should 
have  been  so  deceived,  blinded,  taken  in  !  " 

"Adam  !  " 

"  Lovely  innocence  !  It  is  too  much  !  Go 
away ! " 

"  I  will  not  stand  this  any  longer  !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  will  go  away ;  but  not  till  I  have  told  you 
why  I  have  acted  as  I  have." 

"It  is  too  late  for  that!  I  do  not  care  to 
hear !  " 

"  Then  you  shall  hear  !  "  she  replied.  "  You 
shall  know  that  it  is  because  I  have  believed 
you  capable  of  speaking  to  me  as  you  have  just 
spoken :  believed  you  at  heart  unsparing  and 
unjust.  You  think  I  asked  you  to  do  what  you 
have  done?  No!  I  asked  you  whether  you 
would  be  willing  to  do  it;  and  when  you  said 
you  would  not,  I  saw  then  —  by  your  voice, 
your  eyes,  your  whole  face  and  manner  —  that 
you  would.  Saw  it  as  plainly  at  that  moment, 
in  spite  of  your  denial,  as  I  see  it  now  —  the 
cruelty  in  you,  the  unfaithfulness,  the  willing 
ness  to  betray.  It  was  for  this  reason  —  not 
because  I  heard  you  refuse,  but  because  I  saw 
you  consent  —  that  I  could  not  forgive  you." 

She  paused  abruptly  and  looked  across  into 
134 


my  face.     What  she  may  now  have  read  in  it  I 
do  not  know.     Then  anger  swept  her  on  : 

"  How  often  had  I  not  heard  you  bitter  and 
contemptuous  towards  people  because  they  are 
treacherous,  cruel !  How  often  have  you  talked 
of  your  love  of  nature,  of  our  inhumanity  towards 
^ower  creatures  !  But  what  have  you  done  ? 

"  You  set  your  fancy  upon  one  of  these  crea 
tures,  lie  in  wait  for  it,  beset  it  with  kindness, 
persevere  in  overcoming  its  wildness.  You  are 
amused,  delighted,  proud  of  your  success.  One 
day  — you  remember?  — it  sang  as  you  had 
always  wished  to  hear  it.  It  annoyed  you,  and 
you  threw  a  stone  at  it.  With  a  little  less  angry 
aim  you  would  have  killed  it.  I  have  never 
seen  anything  more  inhuman.  How  do  I  know 
that  some  day  you  would  not  be  tired  of  me, 
and  throw  a  stone  at  me  f  When  a  woman  sub 
mits  to  this  once,  she  will  have  them  thrown  at 
her  whenever  she  sings  at  the  wrong  time,  and 
she  will  never  know  when  the  right  time  is. 

"  Then  you  thought  you  were  asked  to  sacri 
fice  it,  and  now  you  have  done  that.  How  do 
I  know  that  some  day  you  might  not  be  tempted 
to  sacrifice  me  ?  "  She  paused,  her  voice  break 
ing,  and  remained  silent,  as  if  unable  to  get 
beyond  that  thought. 

135 


"  If  you  have  finished,"  I  said,  very  quietly, 
"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  and  we  need 
not  meet  after  this. 

"I  trapped  the  bird;  you  trapped  me.  I 
understood  you  to  ask  something  of  me,  to  cast 
me  off  when  I  refused  it.  Such  was  my  faith 
in  you  that  beneath  your  words  I  did  not  look 
for  a  snare.  How  hard  it  was  for  me  to  forgive 
you  what  you  asked  is  my  own  affair  now ;  but 
forgive  you  I  did.  How  hard  it  was  to  grant 
it  that  also  is  now,  and  will  always  be,  my  own 
secret.  I  beg  you  merely  to  believe  this  :  know 
ing  it  to  be  all  that  you  have  described  —  and 
far  more  than  you  can  ever  understand  —  still, 
I  did  it.  Had  you  demanded  of  me  something 
worse,  I  should  have  granted  that.  If  you  think 
a  man  will  not  do  wrong  for  a  woman,  you  are 
mistaken.  If  you  think  men  always  love  the 
wrong  that  they  do  for  the  women  whom  they 
love,  you  are  mistaken  again. 

"  You  have  held  up  my  faults  to  me.  I  knew 
them  before.  I  have  not  loved  them.  Do  not 
think  that  I  am  trying  to  make  a  virtue  out  of 
anything  I  say ;  but  in  all  my  thoughts  of  you 
there  has  been  no  fault  of  yours  that  I  have  not 
hidden  from  my  sight,  and  have  not  resolved  as 


best  I  could  never  to  see.  Yet  do  not  dream 
that  I  have  found  you  faultless. 

"  You  fear  I  might  sacrifice  you  to  something 
else.  It  is  possible.  Every  man  resists  temp 
tation  only  to  a  certain  point;  every  man  has 
his  price.  It  is  a  risk  you  will  run  with  any. 

"  If  you  doubt  that  a  man  is  capable  of  sacri 
ficing  one  thing  that  he  loves  to  another  that  he 
loves  more,  tempt  him,  lie  in  wait  for  his  weak 
ness,  ensnare  him  in  the  toils  of  his  greater 
passion,  and  learn  the  truth. 

"  I  make  no  defence  —  believe  all  that  you 
say.  But  had  you  loved  me,  I  might  have  been 
all  this,  and  it  would  have  been  nothing." 

With  this  I  walked  slowly  out  of  the  arbour, 
but  Georgiana  stood  beside  me.  Her  light 
touch  was  on  my  arm. 

"  Let  me  see  things  clearly !  " 

"  You  have  a  lifetime  in  which  to  see  things 
clearly,"  I  answered.  "  How  can  that  concern 
me  now  ? "  And  I  passed  on  into  the  house. 

During  the  morning  I  wandered  restless.  For 
a  while  I  lay  on  the  grass  down  behind  the  pines. 
How  deep  and  clear  are  the  covered  springs  of 
memory !  All  at  once  it  was  a  morning  in  my 
boyhood  on  my  father's  farm.  I,  a  little  Saul 
137 


A   LITTLE    SAUL   OF  TARSUS. 


138 


of  Tarsus  among  the  birds,  was  on  my  way  to 
the  hedge-rows  and  woods,  as  to  Damascus, 
breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter.  Then 
suddenly  the  childish  miracle,  which  no  doubt 
had  been  preparing  silently  within  my  nature, 
wrought  itself  out ;  for  from  the  distant  forest 
trees,  from  the  old  orchard,  from  thicket  and 
fence,  from  the  wide  green  meadows,  and  down 
out  of  the  depths  of  the  blue  sky  itself,  a  vast 
chorus  of  innocent  creatures  sang  to  my  newly 
opened  ears  the  same  words:  "Why  perse- 
cutest  thou  me?"  One  sang  it  with  indigna 
tion  ;  another  with  remonstrance ;  still  another 
with  resignation ;  others  yet  with  ethereal  sad 
ness  or  wild  elusive  pain.  Once  more  the 
house-wren  met  me  at  the  rotting  gate-post, 
and  cried  aloud,  " per-se-cu-test — per-se-cu-test— 
per-se-cu-test — per-se-cu-test!  "  And  as  I  peeped 
into  the  brush-pile,  again  the  brown  thrush, 
building  within,  said,  "thou  —  thou  —  thou!" 

Through  all  the  years  since  I  had  thought 
myself  changed,  and  craved  no  greater  glory 
than  to  be  accounted  the  chief  of  their  apostles. 
But  now  I  was  stained  once  more  with  the  old 
guilt,  and  once  more  I  could  hear  the  birds  in 
my  yard  singing  that  old,  old  chorus  against 
man's  inhumanity. 

139 


Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  went 
away  across  the  country  —  by  any  direction ;  I 
cared  not  what.  On  my  way  back  I  passed 
through  a  large  rear  lot  belonging  to  my  neigh 
bour,  and  adjoining  my  own,  in  which  is  my 
stable.  There  has  lately  been  imported  into 
this  part  of  Kentucky  from  England  the  much- 
prized  breed  of  the  beautiful  white  Berkshire. 
As  I  crossed  the  lot,  near  the  milk-trough,  ash- 
heap,  and  parings  of  fruit  and  vegetables  thrown 
from  my  neighbour's  kitchen,  I  saw  a  litter  of 
these  pigs  having  their  awkward  sport  over 
some  strange  red  plaything,  which  one  after 
another  of  them  would  shake  with  all  its  might, 
root  and  tear  at,  or  tread  into  greater  shapeless- 
ness.  It  was  all  there  was  left  of  him.  If  I 
could  have  been  spared  the  sight  of  that ! 

I  entered  my  long  yard.  The  sun  was  set 
ting.  Around  me  was  the  last  peace  and 
beauty  of  the  world.  Through  a  narrow  ave 
nue  of  trees  I  could  see  my  house,  and  on  its 
clustering  vines  fell  the  angry  red  of  the  sun 
darting  across  the  cool  green  fields. 

The  last  hour  of  light  touches  the  birds  as 

it  touches  us.     When  they  sing  in  the  morning, 

it  is  with  the  happiness  of  the  earth  ;   but  as 

the  shadows  fall  strangely  about  them,  and  the 

140 


helplessness  of  the  night  comes  on,  their  voices 
seem  to  be  lifted  up  like  the  loftiest  poetry  of 
the  human  spirit,  with  sympathy  for  realities 
and  mysteries  past  all  understanding. 

A  great  choir  was  hymning  now.  On  the 
tops  of  the  sweet  old  honeysuckles  the  cat-birds  ; 
robins  in  the  low  boughs  of  maples ;  on  the  high 
limb  of  the  elm  the  silvery-throated  lark,  who 
had  stopped  as  he  passed  from  meadow  to 
meadow ;  on  a  fence  rail  of  the  distant  wheat- 
field  the  quail  —  and  many  another.  I  walked 
to  and  fro,  receiving  the  voice  of  each  as  a 
spear  hurled  at  my  body.  The  sun  sank.  The 
shadows  rushed  on  and  deepened.  Suddenly, 
as  I  turned  once  more  in  my  path,  I  caught 
sight  of  the  figure  of  Georgiana  moving  straight 
towards  me  from  the  direction  of  the  garden. 
She  was  bare-headed,  dressed  in  white ;  and  she 
advanced  over  the  smooth  lawn,  through  ever 
greens  and  shrubs,  with  a  gentle  grace  and  dig 
nity  of  movement  such  as  I  had  never  beheld. 
I  kept  my  weary  pace,  and  when  she  came  up  I 
did  not  lift  my  eyes. 

"Adam  !  "  she  said,  with  gentle  reproach.  I 
stood  still  then,  but  with  my  face  turned  away. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "     All  girlishness  was  gone  out 
of  her  voice.     It  was  the  woman  at  last. 
141 


I  turned  my  face  farther  from  her,  and  we 
stood  in  silence. 

"  I  have  suffered  enough,  Adam,"  she  pleaded. 

I  answered  quietly,  doggedly,  for  there  was 
nothing  left  in  me  to  appeal  to  : 

"  I  am  glad  we  can  part  kindly.  .  .  .  Neither 
of  us  may  care  much  for  the  kindness  now,  but 
we  will  not  be  sorry  hereafter.  .  .  .  The  quar 
rels,  the  mistakes,  the  right  and  the  wrong  of 
our  lives,  the  misunderstandings  —  they  are  so 
strange,  so  pitiful,  so  full  of  pain,  and  come  so 
soon  to  nothing."  And  I  lifted  my  hat,  and 
took  the  path  towards  my  house. 

There  was  a  point  ahead  where  it  divided, 
the  other  branch  leading  towards  the  little  pri 
vate  gate  through  which  Georgiana  had  come. 
Just  before  reaching  the  porch  I  looked  that  way, 
with  the  idea  that  I  should  see  Georgiana's 
white  figure  moving  across  the  lawn ;  but  I 
discovered  that  she  was  following  me.  Mount 
ing  my  door-steps,  I  turned.  She  had  paused 
on  the  threshold.  I  waited.  At  length  she 
said,  in  a  voice  low  and  sorrowful: 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  forgive  me,  Adam  ? " 

"  I  do  forgive  you  !  "     The  silence  fell  and 
lasted.     I  no  longer  saw  her  face.     At  last  her 
despairing  voice  barely  reached  me  again : 
142 


"  AND  —  IS  —  THAT  —  ALL  ? 


«  And  —  is  —  that—nil ?  " 
I  had  no  answer  to  make,  and  sternly  waited 
for  her  to  go. 


SET   OUR    CANDLES   IN    OUR   WINDOWS. 

A  moment  longer  she  lingered,  then  turned 
slowly  away ;  and  I  watched  her  figure  growing 
fainter  and  fainter  till  it  was  lost.  I  sprang 
after  her,  my  voice  rang  out  hollow,  and  broke 
with  terror  and  pain  and  longing : 
144 


"  Georgiana !     Georgiana !  " 

"  Oh,  Adam,  Adam  !  "  I  heard  her  cry,  with 
low,  piercing  tenderness,  as  she  ran  back  to  me 
through  the  darkness. 

When  we  separated  we  lighted  fresh  candles 
and  set  them  in  our  windows,  to  burn  a  pure 
pathway  of  flame  across  the  intervening  void. 
Henceforth  we  are  like  poor  little  foolish  chil 
dren,  sick  and  lonesome  in  the  night  without  one 
another.  Happy,  happy  night  to  come  when 
one  short  candle  will  do  for  us  both! 

.  .  .  Ah,  but  the  long,  long  silence  of  the 
trees !  .  .  .  \"6  \ V  d  - 


STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL     FINE    OF    25    CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


" 


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1  4  1354 


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